The Universal Language
by Mimea
Summary: [HMC] Kiss story 7 of 30: Nightmares. In which Howell falls victim to dreams of the past.
1. Kiss From a Stranger

**Disclaimer:** All characters and settings from "Howl's Moving Castle" belong to Diana Wynne Jones and her publishers. All rights to the movie belong to Miyazaki Hayao, Studio Ghibli, and Walt Disney. Unfortunately, I am none of these people or entities, so, alas, only the idea for this story is mine. 

**Author's Note:** This is the first piece I've finished in this crazy project I've decided to undertake. In the anime community, there is something known as the "30 kisses" challenge. The object is to take your favorite pairing and write a "kiss" story using the suggested theme. 

There are 30 themes. So my goal is thirty pieces of fiction with at least a reference to a kiss in each. And so I don't flood the DWJ category with my nonsense, I'll just post them under the blanket title, rather like most people do with drabbles. 

I mean, Howl and Sophie get to hold hands and hug in canon, but no kisses! Since the book has been adapted into an anime movie, I consider it fair game.

Special thanks goes to the "movingcastle" community on LiveJournal once again for their encouragement with this piece. :) I don't know how they put up with me.

Enjoy, everybody, and wish me luck! 

**Kiss Theme #3** - _Jolt!_  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairing:** Howl/Sophie  
**Genre:** Humor/Romance  
**Summary:** In which Sophie is accosted, and it isn't even May Day!  


****

Kiss From a Stranger  
_by Mimea_

It had been a particularly good day at the market. Sophie hustled through the streets of Porthaven as best she could with her basket heavily laden with the spoils of her victories. 

She always enjoyed bargaining with the market sellers. The honest ones she only engaged in token battles of wills, offering them honest prices for their wares and even throwing a bit of bartering in for those in need of potions. The unscrupulous ones, however, never lasted long. They never accepted her offers, even when the other sellers would whisper of the power of Sorceress Jenkin. Some went so far as to insult her. Then suddenly their wares would start to spoil, or their products would sing out the seller's crooked practices for all passers-by to hear. 

Sophie beamed with pride as she remembered the morning's singing carp. A particularly nasty fellow had tried to sell her several fish, claiming they were fresh. But she had been able to see one of Michael's own preservation powders sprinkled on them, and thus exposed the fraud when she convinced the carp to start a little ditty about how it was their third day away from the sea. 

Yes, it had been a very good morning. 

So caught up was she in her own cleverness that she didn't notice the slender shadow following her from the darkness of the alleyways. It traced her jaunty steps, sliding effortlessly from one dark patch to the next. It watched. It waited for the perfect opportunity to strike. 

But even Sophie's good mood couldn't assuage the burning in her shoulders from carrying such a heavy burden. As she rounded the corner that separated the market from the residential district, she slipped into a doorway and set her basket down. She slowly stretched her neck from side-to-side, and rotated her shoulders up and down. Finally, satisfied she could last until she reached home, she picked up her prizes and set off at a trot. 

She had only taken a few steps before something clasped onto her left shoulder and a hand slipped over her right cheek in a slithering caress, applying inexorable pressure to the hinge of her jaw. Her whole head was forced to the side, her basket dropping on the ground. If she'd had a chance, she would have seen the contents were suspiciously unharmed, but she had no opportunity to spare any thought for her groceries. Her eyes squeezed shut as she prepared to open her mouth to scream. Then suddenly a pair of rough, hard lips came down on hers. 

Sophie squawked, but it was muffled by the stranger's mouth. She tried to reach around and jab her assailant, but her arms were too short. She tried hitting him someplace sensitive, but his lower body danced out of her trajectory, never breaking his hold on her. 

The hand on her shoulder gravitated down to her waist, then his arm was around her, keeping her from any more attempts to attack him. 

Sophie felt trapped, helpless. She HATED that! But without her power of speech, she was bound. 

"And it isn't even May Day," she thought miserably as desperate tears formed and slid from the corners of her eyes. 

All at once, the pressure on her lips lifted, the hands gripping her body slackening. "Sophie?" 

She would know that voice anywhere. Her eyes flew open to see the pale cloud of his dyed blond hair and his green eyes full of concern. 

"Howl!" Now she did fight. She ripped herself out of his grasp, planting one foot in the carefully preserved basket of foodstuffs. She lost her balance, but Howl caught her arm and gently pulled her upright. 

Knowing better than to put his head anywhere in the vicinity of her legs at that moment, he spoke a few words accented by a bit of thunder, and the basket dissolved from Sophie's foot to reappear a yard away. The contents, though, were now irreparably crushed. 

Sophie snapped. She called him several creative and not-so-creative names that showed what an apt pupil of Martha's she was. She continued to harangue an impressed, wide-eyed Howl until she ran out of breath. 

"What… were… you… _thinking_?" she panted at last. 

Howl gave her a look eerily reminiscent of a child caught in the repercussions of his own prank. "I only meant to surprise you. I didn't realize you would be so lost in thought that you wouldn't recognize me." 

"Well, you've never been quite so," Sophie colored to the roots of her hair, "_forceful_." 

"So you'd prefer I not be?" 

"I didn't say that!" She blushed even harder, but continued anyway. "But just jumping on me from an alleyway isn't exactly the best idea! What if it hadn't been you?" 

"He wouldn't have known you well enough to realize you would fight back. I narrowly escaped your onslaught as it was." He gave her a teasing grin, trying to cover up his concern with flippancy, but there was a shadow of worry in his eyes. "Regardless, I think you should start paying more attention to your surroundings, cariad." The affectionate term in his native tounge slipped out before he even realized it. 

Guilt wormed its way into Sophie's heart. Howl was right, even though she would rather die than admit it directly. 

"Because you never know," he continued, "what kind of ruffian will take it into his head to accost a pretty young girl walking down the street with her hands otherwise occupied." 

Sophie sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry." 

Howl tentatively stepped closer to her. When she showed no signs of lashing out again, he gently took her right hand in his left, stroking the back of it with his thumb. "Not to worry. The wife of Sorcerer Jenkin is just too precious a commodity to lose." 

Sophie gave him a loving smile that immediately had Howl quaking in his fine boots. His fears were confirmed when it melted into a calculating quirk of her lips. "Speaking of precious commodities, I believe there is still the matter of a squashed basket of food that I seem to recall stepping in when my husband scared me." 

"That's nothing," Howl airily declared. "I shall simply replace--" 

"Oh NO. You're not slithering out of this, Howl Jenkins." She withdrew her hand from his grasp to settle both fists on her hips. "I spent all morning getting those. Now you're going to spend part of the afternoon helping me replace them." 

Howl glanced up at the sky. "My, my, look at the time. I have a very important meeting in Kingsbury at two…" 

"I'll set things straight with the King, especially since it's half past two already." 

Howl looked startled, glanced up again, then his face heated in embarrassment at having been caught. 

Sophie pinned him with a glare as she moved to empty the ruined contents of the basket into the gutter. As she slid the remains of her shopping onto the grooved stones, she convinced any remaining scraps they'd be lonely where they were, so they should join their brethren on the ground. Once her basket was thoroughly clean, she gleefully trotted over to Howl and presented it with a flourish. 

"Now, Sophie, don't be unreasonable. A delicate flower such as I—" 

"Shush. You're a man, aren't you?" She shoved the handle into his protesting hands. "If I can do it, you can." 

Realizing he had been effectively dragooned into helping her, Howl resigned himself to the inevitable. 

Besides, maybe if he pretended to behave for once, Sophie would be willing to give him a treat when they got home. 

With his shoulders slumped in an attempt to hide his roguish grin, he followed his wife back into the marketplace, enjoying the lovely view of her swaying backside.

* * *

That's all for now, folks! 

**Author's Note:** You may notice that when talking about the "Sorcerer" or "Sorceress" in Porthaven, the name is "Jenkin". No, that's not a typo. On page 86 of my edition of the paperback, Michael lists Howl's aliases. He's "Wizard Pendragon" in Kingsbury and "Sorcerer Jenkin" in Porthaven. The last name Howl was born with is "Jenkins". Why do I have this little note here? Because I know one of my wonderful readers will pick up on that. I adore you guys here in the DWJ books section, you're all so helpful and give such wonderful constructive criticism and positive feedback! You guys are the best! 

If you'd like to leave a review, please do! It makes my day to see someone took the time to actually write a little something:) Thank you! 


	2. A Most Wondrous Machine

**Disclaimer:** One more time, folks. The novel "Howl's Moving Castle" is the property of Diana Wynne Jones and her publishers. The movie is the property of Miyazaki Hayao, Studio Ghibli, and Walt Disney. I don't own any of the characters. I only write what they tell me to. So please don't sue me!

**Author's Note:** This piece was actually done in dribs and drabs over the course of a month. It was just a few days ago that I finally had the time to stitch it all together from the random bits of paper and Notepad files I'd written it on/in. I even had two disparate scenarios that I tweaked one to fit with the other. It was actually really fun, and I'm actually slightly proud of this piece now, even though I thought it would be a total disaster! Lots of fluffy romance, a pinch of drama, stir well, and viola! Not only that, there is more than one kiss. It just happened!

A HUGE round of thanks goes to everybody who reviewed the first story, especially tsukara and nefi who both reviewed here and commented on LJ! You guys are wonderful! And, as always, major props to the "movingcastle" LJ community for being my test audience.

Once again, my characterizations and situations are based on the book. That means Michael is fifteen and courting Sophie's youngest sister Martha... who switched places with the middle sister Lettie. And Suliman refers to Ben Suliman, the original Royal Wizard, who is quite male. Not the movie's amalgam of Suliman and Mrs. Pentstemmon.

**Kiss Theme #1** - _Look Over Here_  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairing:** Howl/Sophie  
**Genre:** Romance  
**Summary:** In which Howl comes up with a new invention, but only Sophie can help him make it work. 

**A Most Wondrous Machine  
_by Mimea_**

Peace and harmony never lasted for long in the Jenkins residence. 

Sophie was plying her needle on a rare day when the shop was closed. She was getting worn out from the daily ritual of gathering flowers and selling them to the residents of Market Chipping, so she had decided to take a well-deserved day off. Having been forbidden from touching any article of Howl's clothing ever again, she was darning Michael's socks in a fit of sisterly kindness. "Or I soon will be his sister at the rate things are going," she murmured to herself as she set the last few stitches in one particularly abused heel. 

Michael had gone out early that day, calling out as he left that he was meeting with "his Lettie", so not to expect him back any time soon. Sophie shook her head. She had a feeling Martha would remain "Lettie" for the rest of her life now, and there would always be confusion as to whether people were discussing the original Lettie, or Michael's "Lettie". But the important thing was that Michael was obviously in love with Martha, no matter what she looked like. And that was all she could wish for her youngest sister. 

Calcifer wasn't "at home", either. Now that it was summer and there was no need for him to heat the castle at night, he usually disappeared when the sky turned dark enough and came back sometime the next afternoon. She had a sneaking suspicion he was missing his old home in the sky and would spend his nights there before the cold fall rain and winter snow showers would force him to stay inside. 

So she was enjoying the rare stillness in the castle when her reverie was shattered by the house door slamming open with such force that she jumped right out of her chair, the sock she'd just finished mending falling dangerously close to the ashes in the hearth. She turned to face the door, making a mental tally of where the most dangerous items in the house were. A swaying hunk of metal staggered through the door from the Kingsbury entrance. She readied a command to a wickedly sharp set of kitchen knives and was about to shout it when she recognized the shoes and pair of hose visible underneath the machine. 

"Howl! What on earth..?" 

All she got in response was a grunt. The door swung shut of its own accord and the hunk of machinery rose a bit as her husband attempted to negotiate the steps. 

Sophie harrumphed. "You're not getting any sympathy from me," she said. "As for you, you silly lump of metal, stop sitting there and go where Howl was intending to take you. You've been babied long enough!" 

"Sophie, no!" 

But Howl's exclamation came a moment too late. The boxy, bulky machine leapt out of Howl's arms and crashed its way across the paneled flooring, using its bottom corners as tiny feet as it swayed to and fro toward the workbench. Sophie stared in horror at the scuffs and splintered holes it left in its wake, and she gave out a cry as the enchanted machine leapt up from the floor to land on the workbench with a resounding CRASH that caused hairline cracks to run down the legs of the bench as they were pounded into the floorboards. The wooden top groaned and threatened to split, but miraculously held firm. 

"Would it kill you to think things through for once?" Howl groused, clutching the top of the stair railing for dear life. He made a brusque gesture and the floor and workbench mended themselves. "One of these days, you're going to..." His voice faded as his eyes closed and he pitched forward. 

"HOWL!" Sophie cried, running toward him and only wincing slightly as she fell to her knees to cushion his fall. His head fell against her chest and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. 

After a slight struggle, she was able to pull the rest of his torso and shove his long legs onto the floor of the main room. She rearranged him as best as she could, his head cushioned in the crook of her elbow, the remainder of his body draped over her lap. She brushed his unruly pale blond bangs, which had been combed and styled to perfection the evening before, away from his forehead. She took in his ashen complexion and the bluish circles under his eyes. 

"You've overworked yourself, haven't you? On that thing, I'll wager." She cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder at the machine on the workbench. "And you say I don't think..." 

Just then, Howl's eyelids fluttered and he let out a small groan. He shifted, drawing his feet up so that his legs were bent. He took several deep breaths, then opened his eyes to stare up at Sophie. "Don't tell me I..." 

"Yes, you fainted," Sophie said a trifle more sharply than she had been intending. 

Howl grimaced and struggled to sit up. Sophie slowly helped him to his feet, hanging on to his elbow so he wouldn't try and escape. He couldn't even if he wanted to. 

"Just a bit more. I have to finish by tonight." 

"No. It's still morning. You have plenty of time. If you don't rest, you'll just make things worse. In fact, you'd probably break it in this condition!" 

Howl sighed, realizing she did have a point. "Fine, fine." He attempted to shake her off, but she had too firm a grip on him. "I'll get some sleep, but wake me if I sleep past three. Promise me." 

His green eyes fixed on her, in a moment of rare honesty. Sophie found herself agreeing. "Only if you let me help you up the stairs. It's easier to get up them on your feet than your face!" 

"All right," he gave her a tired, affectionate smile that made her blush. She snorted to try and cover her embarrassment and focused on getting him safely up to bed.

* * *

It was half past two the next time Sophie saw Howl. He sailed down the stairs and into the bathroom, without so much as a glance in her direction. 

While he napped, she had finished all the darning and turned to the tried-and-true tasks of sweeping and washing dishes to try and keep her mind off how exhausted her husband had been. The war hadn't been going so well, and the King had been making more and more demands of his Royal Wizards. She also knew Howl had been taking the lion's share of the work so that Suliman could have free time to court Lettie. Of course, Howl would never have told her this. The news came from Lettie herself, her rosy cheeks filled with extra color and her eyes sparkling as she came to relate how well things were going. 

She really couldn't begrudge them. But just because she was already married didn't mean she was willing to give up her time with Howl. Granted, most of that time was spent arguing, but that was how they were happiest, after all. 

Howl re-emerged from the bathroom precisely at three, just as Sophie was putting away the last clean dish. She found herself surrounded in the scent of honeysuckle as his arms found her waist, and his lips brushed her forehead as she tipped her head back instinctively. 

"Sleep well?" she asked. 

"Not as well as when you're beside me, but well enough," Howl replied with a wink. Then he released his blushing wife and tied the trailing sleeves of the green and copper suit he had donned behind his neck. "Now to see to this little problem." 

Knowing how single-minded he could be, Sophie sighed and shook her head. At least she had gotten him to rest a little bit. "Well, if you're going to keep pushing yourself, I might as well go get some decorations to brighten this place up a bit," she huffed as she marched over to the hat rack. 

Howl made a noncommittal noise and gave a slight nod to indicate he'd heard. 

Sophie jammed her hat onto her head and stalked to the door in high dudgeon. She spun the doorknob with a flick of her wrist so that it pointed to purple and flung it open, making sure to close it with a BANG behind her. 

An hour later, she returned to the castle, her arms full of various flowers. She'd forgotten to take a knife or gardening shears, so her sewing scissors had taken a beating. But she was now dirty, sweaty, and her frustration had been well disposed of in hacking through brambles and doing a bit of weeding along the way. 

The door opened before she could even touch it. She edged inside cautiously, but the only thing she saw was Howl, still slaving over the hunk of metal he had brought home that morning. As soon as she was inside, Howl waved and the door shut behind her. 

She wanted to make several scathing comments about what if she were an enemy and he'd pulled that stunt, but she knew her objections wouldn't even be heard. Howl was frowning in concentration, his eyebrows knit together in irritation and puzzlement. Instead, she took her flowers over to the kitchen table and spread them out before fetching several vases from a cupboard. 

She had finished three arrangements and was beginning a fourth when a cry from Howl nearly made her nick her finger on a rose thorn. 

"Ah-ha! I got it!" Howl exclaimed, beaming at his own ingenuity. 

Sophie stiffened instinctively. With a cry like that, she had the sinking feeling she was about to become involved. Her fears were confirmed when one graceful hand landed gently on her shoulder. 

"Sophie, dear..." 

"Whatever it is, no, I won't do it." She gave the flowers she was arranging a little extra shake for emphasis. 

"But you haven't even heard my brilliant idea," Howl wheedled. "Won't you at least hear me out?" 

"No. I'm very busy." 

Howl raised an eyebrow. "So I see," he remarked, measuring the pile of flowers that had already been touched by her industrious hand against those waiting their turn. "But you're almost done, right? You should take a little break." 

"I will when I'm finished," she informed him, "and not a moment before." 

Her husband gave her a crestfallen look and a resigned sigh. "Ah, well then, the kingdom shall fall to ruin all thanks to the hard-heartedness of the wife of the Wizard Pendragon who refused to use her talents for the good..." 

"All right, all right!" Sophie huffed, stumping over to the workbench, making sure to bump into Howl on the way. Howl only grinned as she jostled him. "But it's only to keep you from lecturing me for the next hour." 

"Understood, lovely lady," Howl replied, triumph erasing any trace of reproach. 

Sophie poked at the odd contraption. "So what do you expect me to do about this?" 

Howl came to stand next to her, then positioned himself on the other side of the workbench so that he faced her over the top of the machine. He pointed to a small cylinder visible between two tiny slabs of metal. "Look over here," he told her. 

Sophie squinted. "I don't see anything wrong with it." 

Howl gave her a dry look. "It's supposed to be whirring around furiously. As you can see, it's just sitting there. I was wondering if you could try _persuading_ it to work." 

Sophie eyed him suspiciously. "Isn't that cheating?" 

Howl sighed and looked quite put upon. "The King wants a working prototype by this evening. I only have a few hours left. I'll tweak it later, I swear!" 

"Uh-huh," Sophie commented dubiously, but she bent her head down to get closer to the cylinder. "Now, listen up. I'm talking to you, little rod. There's plenty of room for you to move. Go ahead and spin!" 

The cylinder refused to move. 

Sophie poked it. "Wake up in there! I told you to spin!" 

Still nothing happened. 

Sophie ordered, pleaded, even put on her best commanding voice. Still, it would not budge. 

"I think this thing is..." 

Sophie meant to say "broken", but her final word was swallowed by a pair of very warm lips. She had made the mistake of raising her head, and she only caught a flash of mischief in Howl's eyes before he leaned in to kiss her. She was too stunned to respond at first, but she soon caved under his gentle, insistent pressure, her eyes sliding closed involuntarily. 

Suddenly, the machine sprung to life, startling Sophie out of the moment and away from Howl. She stared as the cylinder whirred furiously, producing tiny, magical sparks. Her brows furrowed in annoyance. "_Now_ you choose to listen to me!" 

Then she noticed Howl had hidden his face and his shoulders were shaking. Suspicion flooded her. 

"Howl, what on earth is this thing for, anyway?" 

Her husband couldn't stand it any longer. He burst out in whole-hearted laughter. 

"This isn't a war machine, is it?" 

"But the King did want it by tonight!" Howl wheezed, trying to catch his breath. 

Sophie let Howl recover slightly from his fit of merriment before continuing. "Why? What's happening tonight?" 

Howl startled her once again by taking her hand, so much so, she nearly pulled back. He led her away from the table, then twirled her gracefully into the center of the room. "I cannot believe you've forgotten that it's the annual Sweetheart Ball." 

Sophie snorted, but she stayed where she was, having been drawn close to Howl. "Romantic nonsense," she remarked cynically. 

"So, you won't come with me?" Howl's eyebrow and voice rose questioningly. 

"I never said that," she retorted. "Wait, is that why Michael isn't here?" 

"Well, when he asked if he could spend the day before the Ball with 'his Lettie', how could I refuse? I may be a strict master..." 

Sophie snorted. 

"But I am not heartless, either literally or figuratively. Besides, in the mood he was in, he would have set off the machine, so I wouldn't have been able to test it properly." 

"So, are you going to tell me yourself, or shall I corner the King tonight?" 

"You wouldn't... You would," Howl commented with a sigh of resignation. "All right, Mrs. Nose." He led her back over to the workbench, then released her to stand to the side of it and gesture with a flourish. "I call it the 'Romance Sparker'!" 

"Romance Sparkler?" 

"Indeed. But it's 'Sparker'. No 'l'," he tutted. "Whenever sparks fly between a couple, this beauty gives a physical manifestation of it." 

"And the use of it is..?" 

"At a function such as the Sweetheart Ball, there will be romance a plenty. So this fellow will be filling the air with sparks." He gave the machine a little pat. 

"I don't think anybody would like it if their clothes caught on fire." 

Howl eyed her reproachfully. "Even I am not that careless. They're magic sparks. Be reasonable. Do you really think _I_ would endanger fine garments?" 

Sophie glanced at him dryly. "You're right. How could I have forgotten?" 

"You're the one who's a menace to clothing." 

"Only yours," she calmly replied. But a niggle of doubt crept in. "Wait, why were you so sure I wouldn't set it off?" 

Howl's eyes shone with amusement and an odd tenderness. "Because Michael and your sister are still in the passionate throes of puppy love. They haven't settled into the respectable," he ignored Sophie's rather rude noise, "yet deep-rooted love of a long-standing relationship such as ours." 

"It's no use trying to sweeten it, Howl. Why don't you just come out and say it's because your wife has a heart of ice." 

"Sophie!" Howl reprimanded her. "I think no such thing. You are simply more sensible than the ladies pledging their undying vows of love all the live long day, or feckless cads who fall head over heels in love with a pretty face, dress, or manner." He gave her a self-depreciating wink that made her flush indignantly. Although whether it was because of the backhanded compliment, the insult he'd given himself, or her frustration at her inability to stay mad at him, she wasn't sure. 

He touched a hand to Sophie's cheek, and she mindlessly leaned into it. 

"Besides, if your heart were made of ice, you wouldn't respond to my touch like that." 

The subtle implications of his words made her turn another shade darker, and she tried to straighten her head. But Howl's right hand came up to her other cheek. He smiled, the warmth and playfulness in his eyes making her breath hitch. 

The Sparker whirled to life, shooting tiny particles of light into the air, filling the room with colorful, miniature shooting stars. 

But instead of the kiss she was expecting, Howl simply saluted the tip of her nose and released her. He drew back, grinning impishly, the sparks continuing to fly in vibrant hues. 

Sophie sighed in exasperation, but her husband gestured grandly. "Is this proof enough for you?" he challenged. "No matter who, no matter where, no one will ever compare to my stubborn, reckless, bossy, disgustingly clean wife." 

It was then that Sophie tackled him, nearly knocking him back into the Sparker. But he held his ground, catching her as she fastened her lips to his. He drew her close, their bodies fitting together with unhurried familiarity. The sparks practically became fireworks. 

"Just like there'll never be anyone like my vain, cowardly, slapdash, dust-loving husband," Sophie finally murmured as their lips drifted apart, only to find other places on which to bestow kisses. 

"And the world rejoices," Howl muttered between kisses. The scene carried on a bit longer until the machine finally ran down. The rainbow colors faded into the pristine whitewashed walls, no longer hiding the fine layer of dust on the dark beams of the rafters or the countless chemical stains splattered over the top of the workbench. 

Sophie smiled as they finally drew apart. 

"I declare this invention a complete success," Howl announced, throwing a burlap sack over it. "The King should be very pleased." 

"I hope you realize I don't have a thing to wear!" 

"My dear Sophie, you keep seeming to forget you're married to a wizard. Go look in your closet." 

Sophie started up the stairs, but she was stopped by a pair of arms circling her chest and upper arms. "Howl, what...?" 

"I love you, Mrs. Jenkins," he murmured, nibbling her earlobe. 

Sophie didn't say anything, but the Sparker whirred ferociously back to life, sending the rough sacking that had been covering it flying across the room. Howl cursed and rushed to retrieve it while Sophie made her escape. 

As Howl fought valiantly to get the Sparker back under control, he really couldn't be angry or even the slightest bit frustrated at the extra work. 

There was no doubt in his mind that he and his wife would be the winners of the "Ingary's Greatest Sweethearts" award that evening.

* * *

**Author's Note:** That's two down, twenty-eight more to go! Like every writer, I love reviews, so if you'd like to leave one, I'll take good care of it! I promise!

**Vocabulary lesson:** One more thing, a response to raedyn-l's question on the first story. The only reason I actually did use "cariad" is because it's in the book. "Cariad" is Welsh (the black-down knob goes to Wales, which is where Howl is actually from, in the book.). It means "beloved", "sweetheart", or simply "love". Basically, it can be used as a mushy term of endearment. 


	3. Ensnared

**Disclaimer:** My name is not Diana Wynne Jones. Nor am I Studio Ghibli or Walt Disney. Therefore, I do not own any of the characters from "Howl's Moving Castle". I freely admit this, so please don't sue me!

**Author's Note:** In all honesty, I wasn't really sure about this piece in the beginning, but thanks to the feedback from the wonderful people on the "movingcastle" LJ community, I've gotten up the courage to post this particular entry.

Howl may seem a trifle OOC to some. He's being way too honest, and to tell the truth, his proposal in the book is just the kind he'd make. He's too much of a coward to actually come out with a ring. Remember, he can only do brave things when he's told himself he's not going to do them. Simply proposing they live happily ever after isn't "will you marry me", after all. But darn it, the idea fit, so here is Howl being all mushy and disturbingly honest. And c'mon. Most of the people I know who are terribly vain are actually terribly insecure underneath it all. He can also be a big old softie and responsible when the need arises. Just look at how he interacts with his niece and nephew!

Sorry, I should stop justifying things and let you read, shouldn't I?

**Kiss Theme #4** - _our distance and that person_  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairing:** Howl/Sophie  
**Genre:** Character Sketch/Romance  
**Summary:** In which Howl considers pinning himself down

**Ensnared  
_by Mimea_**

Howell Jenkins sat rather dazedly on the creaky metal swing set Megan had installed for Neil and Mari. Of course, Neil had quickly outgrown it, eschewing the simple pleasure of flying through the sky for adventure games on the computer. Mari still loved it, though. But usually there was no one to push her. Megan was too ladylike. Neil, well, Neil was her brother, after all. The only one he ever saw was Gareth. Those rare afternoons when Mari's father was home, Howell would watch through the window of his bedroom in another dimension. He would feel his chest swell to bursting with both happiness for his niece, and pity for himself. Heartless as he had been for so long, he'd believed he'd never see the day when he could be in Gareth's place, pushing his own children toward the stars. 

Now it was a slight possibility. 

If anyone had ever told him that on his 21st birthday, a "spell" he had found in an old book in the University library would open up a gateway to another world, he would have thought them a complete lunatic. He had always been interested in myths and magical lore, but the thought of a whole other world was daunting. 

The doorway had opened onto utter ruin. The place that would become his "house" in Porthaven was nothing more than crumbling brick and a smattering of rotten boards. Through his own cleverness and sheer determination, it wasn't long before "Sorcerer Jenkin" gained a reputation. Which led to his tutelage under the iron claw of Mrs. Pentstemmon, and eventually to his pact with a fire demon in the marshes of the very city he had stumbled into. 

The rest, as the saying went, was history. 

However, now he had a huge problem. The boundary between the world he had been born in and the one he now called home had been ripped open by the Witch of the Waste's diversion. He was going to have to reveal his secret in its entirety to Megan and her family. 

But that wasn't the only reason he had come to Wales on this particular day. He drew a velvet-covered jeweler's box out of the pocket of his disreputable "Welsh Rugby" jacket and turned it in his fingers. Yes, he'd been overly extravagant, but hopefully Sophie wouldn't realize how so. He'd never seen white gold in Ingary, or a blue diamond. But it would make his point to Megan. He was serious, and he did have more than enough money to support a family. 

Not only that, the color reminded him of both Sophie's eyes, and Calcifer when he was in a particularly good mood. He knew Sophie would appreciate a stone with meaning more than the "normal", colorless sparkler girls in his world expected. 

Howell flushed slightly. Why was he so confident she'd say "yes", anyway? Why wouldn't she want a sturdy, reliable young man from her own world instead of a cowardly old geezer who would make her life living hell from day one? 

"Because she's used to it, you nimrod!" his common sense, sounding suspiciously like Sophie herself, rebuked him. "She's been making your life merry hell since she set foot in the castle, so consider it payback! And she loves you despite all your faults. Or maybe even because of them. It's not like she doesn't have a laundry list of her own. If she wanted someone like Michael, she would have taken him!" 

They hadn't yet said the words, but it was implicit in their actions. A light touch there, a certain sparkle in their eyes, or the occasional blush for no reason at all. And the fact they hadn't blasted each other to smithereens yet. 

Just the thought of her, the way her eyes flashed and her cheeks reddened when they argued, made him smile. It had been said that her sister Lettie was one of those few women who actually looked beautiful when she cried. But Sophie had been gifted with something even more rare. Her loveliness was amplified tenfold when she was angry. 

He let himself indulge in speculation for just a moment. What if he had found the portal simply because she was meant for him? That even different dimensions could not keep them apart? 

The high romantic in him liked this idea. 

Then he chuckled at his own absurdity. It had been pure coincidence, nothing more. 

He knew Megan would scoff when he told her of his double life. Her world was full of respectability and responsibility, logic and science. Magic had no place in her austere existence. 

But in his and Sophie's world, magic did exist. It allowed him to be in two places at once... 

Come to think of it, she was never really that far away. 

With a start, he shoved the jeweler's box back in his pocket. What if she was watching him? He stared up at the wall of Megan's house, scrying for a window no one else could see. 

There! In a wavering, ghostly haze he could see the outline of his bedroom window. It was empty. Howell sighed in relief. "Why wouldn't it be?" he thought to himself. "I've told her enough times to stay out of there." 

Suddenly, a very familiar figure appeared, almost as if thinking about her had somehow summoned her. He felt his eyebrows rise. She was snooping! 

But he knew the perfect way to get back at her. 

He winked up at the window and blew Sophie a kiss, not even noticing that at that very moment, Megan chose to walk around the corner of the house. 

He could almost see Sophie's eyes widen before she whirled around in a cloud of red gold hair and stomped away from the window. 

"Howell Jenkins, what on earth are you doing?" the horrified voice of Megan snapped his attention back to Wales. 

He gave her a look like a schoolboy caught stealing kisses from the prettiest girl in class during recess. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." 

"Try me," his sister challenged. "Considering just a couple of days ago some brazen hussy in red just strides into my yard and starts doing inexplicable things to me and my children. Then my no-good brother shows up out of nowhere in some fantastical costume shouting and tossing Mari out of the way like a rugby ball before taking after the woman pell-mell!" Megan glared at him. "Don't tell me. Your latest fling gone wrong?" 

Howell winced. "Not far off, actually." 

"Good Lord, I should have known!" Megan threw up her hands. "And I suppose she's up on the roof right now, and you were blowing kisses to her?" 

Howell looked horrified. "Heavens, no! She's dead, thankfully." Megan's eyes grew wide, but he ignored that. "Trust me, she was a horrible Witch." 

"I'm sure." Megan's tone was pure ice. 

Howell realized he was only making things worse, so he tried a different tack. "She was being controlled, Megan. That's what destroyed her in the end." 

Megan seemed not to know what to make of Howell's explanation, so she attempted to get an answer to her previous question. "Then why, pray tell, were you throwing kisses at my house?" 

Howell breathed a sigh of relief. He gave her his sunniest smile in an effort to distract her before replying. "Expressing my affection for a lovely young lady in a distant land, who is never really far away." 

Megan came close to him and placed the back of her hand against his forehead. "Are you ill?" she asked. 

"Never been better." 

"You're delusional." 

"You've just never seen past the bridge of your nose." 

Megan turned an interesting shade of pink before calming herself down. It wouldn't do to rise to her younger brother's bait. "At least I am respectable, not gallivanting off wherever, flirting with every member of the opposite sex who happens to cross my path--" 

"About that. Unfortunately for me, but I'm sure you will rejoice," he began in a vaguely injured tone, "I have been very seriously ensnared by a lovely widow spider." 

Megan snorted. "I've heard this a million times before. Each time a new girl catches your fancy, you swear she is your one and only. Why can't you be serious for once..?" 

Howell's sister trailed off as shock rattled all thought from her brain. With a surreptitious glance at the all-but-invisible window, Howell had taken out the jeweler's box and opened it. 

"And before you ask, yes, I did buy it. No, the money wasn't gained through illegal means. I do work, believe it or not. In fact, I was recently given a high-ranking government position. Much as I abhor giving up my freedom, I have a future to think of now." 

Megan gaped at him for a few moments before she was able to find her voice again. "You're serious. You're absolutely serious. I never thought I would live to see the day." 

Megan's shoulders slumped with so much relief, Howell felt a trifle guilty. He hadn't realized his feckless ways affected her so deeply. 

"So, when do I get to meet my future sister-in-law?" 

"I haven't asked her yet." 

"Well, if she says no, I want to try and talk her around." 

Howell couldn't help but snicker. The thought of Megan and Sophie in a battle of wills both amused and terrified him. Not only would the resulting clash be likely to destroy the entire castle, he wouldn't be surprised if Sophie refused his formal proposal just to spite Megan. "Oh no, you don't. I don't need my chances slimmed even more. She's a great deal like you at times." 

Megan mulled over that, before her face lit up with cheerful determination. "I think I like her already." 

"You would." 

"If you let me meet her, I won't interfere. I promise." 

"Cross your heart?" 

Megan did so; making sure both her hands were in plain sight so he wouldn't suspect her of crossing her fingers behind her back. "Hope to die." 

Howell straightened, abandoning the swing and putting the ring back in his jacket. "Then follow me, but try not to scream too loudly." 

Megan gave him a dry look, but followed as he sauntered around to the gate that opened onto the front drive of her perfectly ordinary home. She frowned, puzzled, as he made his way to the front door of _Rivendell_. But Howell pretended to ignore her. All would be explained with just a twist of the door handle. 

It was time to close that distance once more, and introduce his sister to the world he now called home.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** As you've probably guessed, the next story I'll be posting happens immediately after this one. That one is mostly written, but it's all on paper, so I have to type it up and do some massive editing.

22 reviews! Wow.. that's alot! I'm honestly shocked! This makes the most reviews I've ever gotten, so thank all of you so, so much!

**_Responses to previous reviews:_**

nefi - Yup! "cariad" is closest to "cherie". I'll try not to bore you too much, but "koi" is actually NOT a term of endearment in Japanese. It means either "passionate love" or "carp". When the Japanese are being affectionate, they'll either use a person's first name, a nickname, or married couples use "anata". Too much time spent with Japanese majors the past four years.

raedyn-l - You're not the only one apparently. Alot of people have been coming up with some sort of wood when looking for the definition of "cariad". I guess I got lucky because I hit on the right usage the first time I searched what the word meant. Thank you!

**Howl, the bathroom, and the status of his lovelife** - This one is courtesy of dazedandconfused07! Thank you so much for pointing this out, so I had to go back and double-check. At the beginning of Chapter 9, Michael asks Calcifer "did he forget to spend at least an hour in the bathroom this morning?" Calcifer replies he spent two hours in there. Michael responds to that "There you are then. The day Howl forgets to do that will be the day I believe he's really in love and not before."

Howl only spent a half hour in the bathroom in "A Most Wondrous Machine".. from 2:30pm to 3:00pm. whew

Until next time, everybody!


	4. Revelations

**Disclaimer:** The characters from "Howl's Moving Castle" belong to Diana Wynne Jones, her publishers, Studio Ghibli, Miyazaki, and Walt Disney. They are not mine. I am merely a writer at their whims.

**Author's Note:** Oh my gosh, I actually did two stories back-to-back that followed the same timeline. I probably won't make a habit of this. Who to blame? Why the "movingcastle" LJ community for encouraging my muse. They make sure this stuff is good enough for public consumption, so I don't know what I would do without them.

Although, if anybody has any Brit-picking to do, please review and let me know! I'm attempting to use more UK terms (such as "trainers" instead of "sneakers"), but I'm just a silly American, so any help would be greatly appreciated. Especially if I've gotten the days UK children are off from school wrong. I wasn't sure, and couldn't find any information online. 

**Kiss theme #26** - _If only I could make you mine_  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairing:** Howl/Sophie  
**Summary:** In which Megan visits the Castle, and Howl's plans go awry.

**Revelations  
_by Mimea_**

Megan had just opened her mouth to reprimand her brother for leading her on a wild goose chase. Why was he doubling back to the front door of her house? Had he been making a fool of her the entire time, merely spinning a yarn about this girl who had supposedly captured his fickle heart? 

But the words died in her throat when the front door didn't open onto the normal, staid entryway she had spent so much time decorating. In its place was a rather cozy-looking main room. There was no fire in the hearth, but warmth still seemed to permeate the place. The furniture had a decidedly lived-in look and the impression she got of a massive, well-worn workbench and overstuffed shelves in the corner reeked of her brother's chaotic organizational skills. The walls were whitewashed, but the wooden beams holding up the second story were nearly black. Four doors were set into the opposite wall, and a sturdy staircase led upward. Overall, it was a cheery hodgepodge. 

Then she noticed her brother's appearance was changing. His "Welsh Rugby" jacket shifted out of focus. It became more form-fitting, but the sleeves became trailing masterpieces of scarlet and grey. His rather baggy trousers tailored themselves into something much more flattering that matched the jacket perfectly, and his trainers shifted into some sort of odd-looking slippers. 

Megan had no idea how to respond. 

Howl turned back with a twinkle in his eye to see his sister's reaction. "Didn't know I've been living right under your nose, did you?" 

"Wh... what is this place?" Megan managed to gasp, looking a trifle pale. 

Howl took her hand and led her inside, up the handful of steps into the main room. He bowed with a majestic flourish as he announced, "Welcome to my Castle." 

When Megan could find her voice again, it held a tremor of skepticism. "Castle?" 

"Actually, if you go out the front door, it looks like a shop building. But if you go out the proper back door, you can see the outside in all its glory." 

Megan jumped and let out a squeak of horror as a small blue ball of flame sped down from the second story. She almost fainted dead away when it opened its mouth to show vicious-looking purple teeth. 

"Howl! Thank heavens you're back! You forgot to lock your bedroom door before you left! Sophie's cleaning _everything_!" Calcifer ended miserably. 

Howl sighed. "I'm amazed Fanny and Mrs. Fairfax left anything to be done." 

"I should have been more clear. She's not dusting or scrubbing. She's ORGANIZING!" 

Howl let out a moan. "Botheration! That woman's nose is longer than Pinocchio's!" 

Calcifer wondered what a Pinocchio was as Howl charged across the room to the staircase to try and salvage any trace of privacy Sophie had left intact. 

But the sight of her figure on the stairs stopped him. 

"I think I've found all that's left of those maidens' hearts you've eaten." She held up the biggest pile of dustdevils either Megan or Howl had ever seen. "Except mine. I think this is the poor thing's remains." She dangled a massive, grotesque hairball as big as her palm from between her index finger and thumb. 

She was truly a sight to behold, her dress of drab grey, her dusty apron, her kerchief firmly wrapped around her head, holding her ginger-colored hair out of her face. Not to mention the foul oddities she held in her hands. 

It was then Sophie noticed Megan. Her eyebrows snapped down in disapproval before she remembered she was no longer the old woman who had talked down Megan Perry. Then she plastered the most gracious expression she could manage on her face. 

Which made Howl quake in his metaphorical boots. A friendly Sophie was never a happy Sophie. 

"Oh, Howl, you've brought a guest?" 

Howl cleared his throat, hoping his voice would stay level as he spoke. "Yes. Sophie, this is my older sister, Megan Perry. Megan, this is my assistant, Sophie Hatter." 

"Sophie Hatter? Wasn't that the name of that old woman you had with you the last time you came for a visit?" Megan asked suspiciously. 

Before Howl could reply, Sophie's face brightened and she fibbed as naturally as could be, "Oh, so you've met my great aunt? I'm named after her." 

Howl gaped like a fish as Sophie deposited her finds in the dustbin, untied her apron and draped it over the banister, wiped her hands thoroughly on her skirt, then crossed the room. She held out a hand without losing the welcoming smile on her face. It was stunning. Radiant, almost. 

"It's SUCH a pleasure to finally meet a member of Howl's family. I was rather jealous of great aunt Sophie up until now." 

Megan met Sophie's outstretched hand, obviously unsure of what to make of the effusive young woman in front of her. "Likewise. Howell's told me a bit about you." 

"Has he now? And I bet it's all about what a horrible witch I am." 

"No, not at all," Megan demurred, nonplussed by Sophie's choice of words. Her brows knit together in confusion as she tried to reconcile the image of the woman who had invaded her yard and that of Sophie, but found she could not. 

"Well, isn't this cozy? So this is the dreaded Megan, huh? She doesn't look so tough to me, Howl." 

Megan's hand had gone stiff as she fought not to cry out at the reappearance of the talking, disembodied blue flame. Sophie threw a withering glance over her shoulder as she released Megan. "You didn't think me much of a threat when I first came, did you?" 

Calcifer wavered. "Okay, point taken. If I'd known I'd let in a cleaning demon, I would have told Michael to push you right back out the door!" 

"What in the world is THAT?" Megan asked as the last of her color seeped out of her face, her eyes fixed on the hovering creature that had just spoken. 

"That, my dear Megan, is a fire demon," the all-but-forgotten Howl explained. "His name is Calcifer." 

"Fire... demon?" his sister echoed faintly. This newest revelation was nearly too much for Megan as she felt her sense of reality quietly shattering around her, leaving her with a dizzying sense of vertigo. "I really think I need to sit down." 

Sophie led her to a comfortable chair, the spitting image of a proper hostess. Megan's eyes were still wide as she rested one elbow on the arm of her chair and cupped her forehead with the same hand. "This can't be real. It's all a dream... OUCH!" 

Megan jumped and shot a glare in the direction of her left arm. She was about to reprimand her brother, but the only one she saw there was Sophie. "Miss Hatter?" 

"I thought that might help you grasp things a little quicker. You're not dreaming if you can feel a pinch," Sophie explained quite reasonably. "Now I'm going to put some tea on to help you relax, but please don't faint in the meantime. I'm not given to vapours, so I don't have any smelling salts handy. And neither of us probably want to know what Howl would come up with as a substitute." 

Megan was completely nonplussed, and she didn't like it one bit. She looked to Howell for help, but the only thing he did was mouth "oldest sister". 

"If you think I'm getting in the grate for just a cup of tea, you're even crazier than I thought." 

Sophie huffed in irritation. "Of course not, Calcifer. A normal fire will do. I'm trying to calm her down, not have her worrying what boiling water over a fire demon would do to the tea." 

"Then I'll go out for a bit, since you obviously don't need me," Calcifer sniffed and shot up the chimney like a tiny comet. 

After he did so, Megan's shoulders slumped a bit in relief. While Sophie worked on getting a plain wood fire started, Megan took the opportunity to grill Howl. "So, anybody or any_thing_ else live here?" 

Howl took a seat beside Megan before responding. "Just one more person, and you have met him before. My assistant, Michael Fisher. Or, I should say, my apprentice." 

"Apprentice?" 

"Of course. Every wizard should have an apprentice. Or two." 

"A wizard," Megan echoed dully. Her brother was claiming to be a wizard. But that would explain all the inexplicable things she had witnessed since she crossed the threshold into this new world. She just couldn't bear to fully digest it at that moment, so she abruptly changed tack. "That's it. I knew you should never have been allowed to choose your own educational path!" 

"Psychology is a perfectly fine field..." 

"Until you decided on 'spells and curses' as the subject of your doctoral thesis! Of all the frivolous, wasteful--" 

"Sophie! What's taking so long with that tea?" Howl jumped up to join the redhead who was standing over the fire. 

"It takes a bit longer to start a fire from scratch, you know," Sophie replied with only a slight edge to her voice. "Besides, I so rarely hear of your life before you came to the Castle." 

"You know, you've been working hard today already. Let me do this. I know how she takes it, anyway." 

Sophie gave him a sideways look, but decided to help him slither out this time. Or so he might think. She let Howl watch the kettle and made her way to the chair he had vacated. 

"Anyway," she began conversationally, "Michael's been here much longer than I have. He's engaged to my youngest sister Martha." 

"Is that how your great aunt met Howell?" 

"Oh no, that was purely by accident. Michael had no idea she was even related to the girl he was courting at first." 

"Accident?" Megan asked, her voice dripping with skepticism. 

"Yes, she was looking for work and stumbled onto this place. Apparently it was a disaster, so she hired herself on as a cleaning lady. Howl didn't kick her out for some reason, and she's quite stubborn. But now she's getting on in years, and her health started to go, so she sent me to take her place." 

Sophie could feel Howl's amazed, approving stare on the nape of her neck and she felt her face heat slightly. 

"Unwise of her. Don't tell me Howell has a stellar reputation here?" 

"Depends on who you ask," Sophie replied honestly. "But if you're about to warn me about him, thank you, but there's no need. I already know he's cowardly, disorganized, a cad, and he could out-slither a snake. I'm used to it." 

She snuck a glance at Howl. There had been a strange light in his eyes until he caught her looking, then he turned up his nose and contrived to look as affronted as possible. 

"The question is whether I'm used to such a nosy, bossy young woman trampling through my life and turning it topsy-turvy," Howl's voice rang out dramatically. 

"You haven't tossed me out yet." 

"If I did, my apprentice's fiancée would take great exception. I don't need to suffer at the hands of yet another Mad Hatter." 

Megan coughed, and the bickering couple fell awkwardly silent. 

"Sorry," Sophie apologized sheepishly. 

Megan smiled in satisfaction. "It's quite all right. I'm just happy to see that you're not letting him take complete advantage of you. I'm also glad there's someone to keep him in line when I'm not here." 

"Keep ME in line? I like that. My own house, and I'm being oppressed. I suppose I should just move out to the Waste. Maybe take up where the Witch left off--" 

"The Waste?" Megan asked. 

"A very hot place, full of sand. Rather ghastly," Sophie explained before sending another barb in Howl's direction. "At least there'd be plenty of material to soak up your next fit of green slime." 

Megan raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask?" 

"No, you don't," Howl cut in, having finished with the tea and bringing it over to Megan and Sophie. "Black with just a drop of cream for you, Megan." He handed over a delicate porcelain cup and saucer, which his sister accepted with a grateful nod of her head. "And even though I shouldn't be so kind after the beating my feelings have been taking while I've been slaving over here, two lumps of sugar, no cream for you." He handed Sophie a sturdy tea mug with a small chip in the rim. 

Sophie closed her hands around the cup, allowing Howl to unwrap his fingers from around the handle. "Well, if you'd been a good host and entertained your guest, you wouldn't have had to 'slave', as you put it," she replied evenly, taking a sip when she'd finished speaking. "Besides, you're the one who offered." 

Megan took a ladylike sip of her tea, slowly letting it slide down her throat. She took a deep breath before her next mouthful, then exhaled through her nose to savor the aroma. He'd made her favorite flavour and brand. The warmth and taste helped ground her, and made her feel a little more as if she could handle this bizarre experience. If you could make Earl Grey in this world, it really couldn't be that bad. Having recovered herself satisfactorily, she returned to her interrogation. "So, Howell, what is it exactly you DO here?" 

Howl opened his mouth to speak, but Sophie interrupted. "Why he's a Royal Wizard of Ingary. Didn't you know? The King relies on him quite a bit." 

"Sophie!" 

She continued on as if she hadn't heard. "Michael mostly takes care of making potions, and I run the flower shop next door. But a man of Howl's abilities--" 

"That's quite enough!" Howl cried. 

Sophie and Megan looked at him, Sophie obviously startled. 

"I don't know what you're babbling on about, filling my sister's head with this idea I'm somebody big and important. Just because the King thinks I'm clever is no reason to brag." 

Sophie stared at him incredulously. "You're always bragging about how clever you are, so I decided to do it for you this time!" She turned her attention back to the cup in her hands, frowning into her tea. She seethed for a moment before her temper got the better of her. She fixed him with a glare that if he had been any less of a wizard, he would have been reduced to ash. "You're absolutely impossible! Half the time you're all but begging me to praise you, but when I do, you jump all over me!" Defiantly, she raised her mug and took a huge swig. 

Howl looked alarmed for a moment, but she swallowed to no ill effect. 

"It's times like this," Sophie continued, having warmed quite a bit to her subject, "that I feel as if I understand you perfectly, Mrs. Perry. I thought having two younger sisters was hard, but MEN seem to be even more difficult." 

Megan watched as Sophie took another great gulp of tea. 

Howl snorted indelicately. "Difficult! Now there's the pot calling the kettle!" 

Just then, Sophie's eyes widened as something in the cup nearly went into her mouth. She quickly took the mug away from her lips, and stared down into it as something clinked against the bottom. 

"Howl! Sophie! Calcifer! I'm back, and I have company!" Michael's dark head appeared in the doorway that used to be the broom closet, the fairer figure of Martha just a few paces behind him. 

"Ah, Michael," Howl greeted. "Impeccable timing, as always." 

Michael came the rest of the way into the room, eyeing Howl suspiciously. "Do I want to know?" 

"Sophie!" Martha exclaimed, running to where her sister was still mesmerized by her tea. "Are you all right? You look a bit pale." 

Sophie shook herself, snapping out of her stupor. "I'm quite all right. I think the tea maker over there lost something in the process. At least, I haven't died yet, so I'm assuming it was him." She swirled the cup around, making the clinking nose clearly audible to everyone in the room. 

Now both Michael and Martha looked worried. "Should I cast an item composition spell to see what it is?" Michael asked. 

Howl seemed almost pained, and an amused smile tugged at the corners of Megan's mouth. 

"Maybe you'd better Michael, since it seems Horrible Howl doesn't care if I end up poisoned or cursed." 

"You've already drank most of it," came Howl's petulant reply. 

Something about the way Howl was acting made Sophie stop and think. He wasn't behaving normally at all. Normally for Howl, that was. She had expected him to snatch the cup out of her hands and examine it for just the types of things she'd described, or at the very least come over to see out of pure curiosity. If it was something of Howl's in there, why didn't he just come over and fish it out? Yet he was stubbornly refusing to go anywhere near her, acting as though she were spoiling some sort of plan of his. 

"You're right, Howl. I have drunk most of it. Why not polish it off?" 

All other occupants of the room stared at her as if she were completely insane, but she didn't give any of them time to stop her. She threw back the remainder of her drink, calculating how to catch the object. She held the liquid in her mouth just long enough to locate the item and lodge it in her right cheek before swallowing. 

Around her, pandemonium broke out. 

"You didn't swallow it, did you?" Michael asked in horrified fascination. 

"Sophie! Sophie, speak to me!" Martha cried. 

Megan was just as taken aback, but did her best to remain calm. "Are you all right, Miss Hatter?" 

"Of all the harebrained, reckless things to do!" Howl's cry overpowered everyone else. He rushed over, bracing his hands on the arms of Sophie's chair and staring into her bright blue eyes. "Spit it out!" 

Sophie shook her head as she wedged the object more firmly between her cheek and jawbone. "Nothing doing. I knew it was yours." 

"I did buy it. Now give it to me." 

"I said no. You didn't come claim it while it was in my cup, so it's mine now." 

"I simply didn't think you wanted my filthy fingers swimming around in your tea." 

"Your fingers aren't filthy, and you didn't even seem to care what was in my tea. Finders keepers." 

A heated, mischievous glint lit up Howl's green eyes. "I won't argue with you about that. But I'd like a chance to present it to you properly." 

"Wha--?" 

Sophie's question was forestalled as Howl quickly became a blur. The overpowering scent of orange blossoms filled her nostrils and made her gasp a little too long when she pronounced her letter "a". Howl took advantage of that moment to cover her open mouth with his. 

Michael turned a deep shade of red, while Martha's jaw hung open in fascination. Megan was perfectly scandalized. She knew she should have expected something like this from him, but that didn't make it any less embarrassing. She hid the lower half of her face behind her teacup, but she found she couldn't tear her eyes away from the scene. 

As for Sophie, she tried to push Howl away, her hands pressing on either side of his collarbone. He didn't budge. She could feel the blood rush to her face and her nerves begin to tingle as his tongue searched her mouth. But he didn't seem to be in much of a hurry to find whatever she'd discovered in her mug. Instead, he seemed to be trying to tease her, his tongue passing in brief strokes over hers between forays along her gum line. 

Finally, he seemed to become more serious, darting over to caress the inside of her right cheek before reclaiming the prize. Then he finally released her, stepping back to take in her mortified expression. Her face was flushed and her eyes were dark with an emotion it was clear she could not quite identify. 

Sophie was still stunned. It had been an odd sensation, but not unpleasant. Rather the contrary. If she hadn't been caught in the heat of battle, she probably would have giggled. Was that the kind of kiss she'd heard the girls in her classes whispering about in scandalized, envious tones? The ones with a touch of the forbidden? 

Martha's voice snapped her out of her reverie. "Oh my. Things are going that well?" 

"Well?" Sophie blushed even deeper. "They're not going well at all!" She finally brought herself to look at Howl. He was still close to her, but he had straightened then slouched backwards as he stood in front of her in what he hoped was a nonchalant pose. "As for you, you, you BEAST! That was my first kiss you stole!" 

Martha blinked. "You can't be serious, Sophie." 

"I bet she is," Michael interjected. 

"I AM serious!" Sophie turned a shocked, betrayed expression on her sister. "I've never had any desire to do so, and now..." She fisted her hands and looked down in her lap, her arms shaking with the effort of keeping from punching Howl square in the jaw. 

Michael, Martha, and Megan watched Howl spit the cause of the whole fiasco out of his mouth and surreptitiously dry it with one trailing sleeve. Megan held her breath. 

"Then I suppose I must atone for the grievous affront I seem to have committed," Howl announced. 

"I'm not speaking to you," Sophie replied. 

"That's all right. Just nod 'yes' or 'no'." 

Sophie raised her eyes, then the rest of her head followed in astonishment. Howl had knelt down on one knee before her. 

"It may be a bit worse for wear, but I underestimated your ability to act without thinking again. Although it may be to my detriment, please think hard on your answer." He opened his palm to reveal the diamond ring he had bought just a few hours ago. 

Martha gasped, Michael goggled, and Megan let out the breath she had been holding. 

"It's beautiful," Sophie said, "but I don't..." 

"I wasn't joking when I proposed that we live happily ever after. In Wales, a ring signifies a betrothal agreement." 

Sophie's breath caught and her heart hammered against her ribs. Was he really asking..? 

"Miss Sophie Hatter, molester of my spiders and my clothing, the most irresistible, irritating woman I ever met, and who I already know I'll still love when she's older than the hills. Will you become my wife and torture me the rest of my days?" 

Sophie tried to find the words, but there was a curious lump in her throat preventing them from coming out. 

After a few moments, Howl began to fidget. 

"Sophie?" Martha prompted. 

Megan sat completely still, attempting to hide her sudden case of nerves on her brother's behalf under a veneer of calm. 

"Of course, if your idea of happily ever after is joyfully living in sin for the rest of our days..." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively in a desperate attempt to keep the overwhelming fear he could feel rising up within him at bay. 

Sophie's continued silence sank his hopes further every moment. He'd probably gone too far. He should have waited until she'd calmed down. But he was doing something that took infinitely more courage than facing the Witch of the Waste. He didn't think he'd regret overcoming his cowardice for once. After all, she had responded favorably to his original offer. Then again, last time he had just saved her and the kingdom from the Witch. What had he done this time? Forced himself on her like a callow schoolboy. 

The light in his eyes died. "A coward should just stay a coward," he thought. He rose to his feet, clenching the ring in his palm. 

His action caused a chain reaction in their audience. 

"Sophie! Say something!" Martha cried. "I know he stole your first kiss, but don't you want to _give_ him the rest?" 

"He's actually asking you to marry him. Just imagine! Howl, settling down! Do you realize how brave he's being? I barely had the courage myself to ask Martha!" Michael rejoined. 

Megan knew it was down to her. She was tempted to stay silent, to allow Howl to run away this time. But she had seen the way her brother looked at Sophie, and the way the couple interacted. If she let him retreat now, she was convinced he would never be the same. If that bossy, rude slip of a girl was the one who made him happy, then she supposed she had no choice. 

"Miss Hatter," her words dropped into the middle of the room with a thud. "Please consider this. I think Howell really and truly means it." 

A wan smile touched the corners of Howl's mouth at Megan's tacit approval, but nothing anyone had said seemed to have any effect on Sophie. Howl closed his eyes so no one would see the misery reflected in them. He heaved a great sigh and began to turn away. 

When two small, work-roughened hands caught the fist holding the ring. 

Sophie gave him a moment to pull away. He couldn't bring himself to. He was afraid this might be the last time he would ever feel her touch. 

Her words came out so quietly, he almost didn't hear them. 

"I haven't said 'no' yet." 

"And I, as you have so often reminded me, am a coward." 

That struck Sophie. Howl was a man who never did anything straightforwardly. In fact, the more convoluted a path he could contrive the follow, the better. Especially when it involved doing anything remotely brave. Now he was standing before her, being terrifyingly honest, his heart disturbingly exposed in front of not only his sister, but her own sister and Michael as well. 

She remembered the feel of that heart, warm and pulsing faintly, surprisingly soft for a man of Howl's reputation. Now she was doing what Miss Angorian had, squeezing that heart until it nearly stopped. 

"I just... I need a moment," she breathed. "This is an awfully serious thing you're asking me." 

"Don't I know it," he said ruefully. 

Megan's eyebrows snapped down as realization dawned. But the main players were too involved in the situation to see clearly, just as she had been. Her own hesitation at the same crucial moment over a decade ago when Gareth had proposed to her had nearly cost her the man she loved. Her voice carried unnaturally crisp and clear across the room. "You have doubts, don't you, Sophie?" she offered. 

Everyone looked at the matron, Michael and Martha aghast, Howl eerily vulnerable, and Sophie as though she'd taken an arrow to the chest. 

"Not about Howl," Sophie explained. 

"But you do have doubts," Megan prompted. 

"What in Heaven's name do you doubt?" Howl burst out. 

"Myself, all right!" Sophie cried. "I'm just plain old reliable Sophie. You need someone prettier, more flambouyant, to compliment you!" 

"Someone like that would _compete_ with me. And you're perfectly lovely, except when that ugly self-doubt of yours rears its head," Howl retorted. "I could have had scores of beautiful damsels at my side, but for some reason, my heart only wants the shrewish redhead who mixes up my hair potions and even makes me ASK where I should put up new portals for the castle so that SHE will be most comfortable!" 

During his tirade, Howl had turned back to her, confronting her with the full force of his sincere feelings. Sophie stared, mesmerized by the power of the emotions he radiated. 

Michael and Martha shifted uncomfortably. At length, it was Megan who broke the heavily-charged silence. 

"Do you know anything of the peacock, Miss Hatter?" she asked quite casually. 

Sophie tore her gaze away from Howl with an effort to focus on Megan. "Yes. It's a bird with beautiful plumage. My family used to run a hat shop. The tailfeathers were always exceptional for hats." 

"Ahh," Megan replied, "but that is only the male of the species." 

Howl blinked as if he'd had a revelation and a slow, grateful smile stole over his features as he looked at Megan. 

Megan gave him a patronizing smile in return. "The female peacock's feathers, however, are all white, black, or brown. The male peacock's plumage is to attract his much more drab mate. The more beautiful the feathers, the more females will accept his advances until he finds the proper one. Therefore, it stands to reason that the perfect mate for Howell is someone rather like you imagine yourself to be. Not a flashy blue jay or cardinal." 

"He did call me a 'little grey mouse' the first time he saw me," Sophie admittedly almost shyly. 

"AND he picked you out of the May Day crowd!" Michael added. 

"Out of pity," Sophie told him, her mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. 

"Perhaps. Of course, it wouldn't have had anything to do with your vibrant hair or the wild magic just pouring off you," Howl said tiredly. "So, are you going to hold onto my hand all night?" 

"I'm still thinking. And if I let go, you'll run away before I can answer." 

Howl turned slightly red about the ears, but didn't say anything. 

The tension in the room reached a fever pitch. Howl was just about to pull his hand away and cut his heartbreaking losses when Calcifer streaked back in. 

"I know Market Chipping isn't as bad as Porthaven, but I certainly don't like the look of those clouds! I just know the sky is going to open up any... Hey, what're the long faces for?" His orange eyes took in the tableau before him. He focused on where Sophie was clutching Howl's hand for dear life. "Ah... this is a bad time, isn't it?" 

"Howl just proposed to Sophie, but she's still thinking about it." 

"Michael!" Sophie hissed, distracted just long enough for Howl to pull away. He made for the door, but he wasn't fast enough. Megan was surprisingly spry for a housewife. She had gotten out of her chair, set her cup and saucer down, and blocked the door by standing in front of it with her arms crossed over her chest. Of course, Howl's slowness had absolutely nothing to do with the flame-like arms lapping at his ankles. 

"Stop that, both of you!" Howl roared. 

Megan looked him dead in the eye. "No. I'm not letting you run away from this." 

Howl turned eyes full of betrayal on the fire demon. "Her I understand, but you, Calcifer?" 

"It's not like I want to. Love scenes make me ill. But you keep forgetting I used to have your heart. I feel rather responsible for it. If a fire demon could return it unscathed, you can keep it that way. Now you..." 

Sophie had been trying not to think of her situation by focusing on the question of how Calcifer could be holding onto Howl without burning him. But as soon as Calcifer turned his lamp-like eyes on her, she could feel all the self-doubt come right back to the surface. 

The fire demon released his hold on Howl to bob over to Sophie and hover at eye level. "I've existed long enough I can see right through you, and I'm going to tell you exactly where his heart stands." 

"Calcifer, no!" Howl commanded. 

But Calcifer paid him no heed. "You really want to know why I let you in the castle in the first place, Sophie?" She nodded. "It's all _Howl's_ fault! That heart of his insisted that you could break our contract from the moment we sensed you outside the castle. Even though I told him someone caught in their own curse couldn't help, he bothered me until I let you in. Then what does he do?" 

"CALCIFER!" 

"He falls atria over ventricle for you. Be thankful you never had to endure all the bad poetry I was subjected to. He was so proud of you each time you used your magic, I'd hear about it for days on end. The Howl who would court ladies until they fell in love with him, then drop them cold..." 

Howl flinched. 

"...was the one without a heart. In fact, it's scaring Howl senseless to find himself so intensely in love with you. He wanted you around before, didn't mind making you comfortable or content. Then you took his heart in your own two hands and commanded it to keep beating. In essence, his heart truly belongs to you. It has your magical signature on it, so only you can command it. Not me. Not Howl. You. In addition, neither of you noticed," he gave them both a reproachful glare, "since that little trick curing Sophie's heart murmurs, your hearts have been beating in unison. I've been waiting for either of you to get hiccups to see if the other caught them!" 

"You joined our hearts back then?" Howl demanded furiously. 

"I didn't. Your heart was just using its own beat to regulate Sophie's, and once they were attuned, there was nothing I could do without killing all three of us." 

"Hold on, is he saying your heart was once outside your body, Howell?" Megan asked, her eyes and tone filled with disbelief. 

"Yes, and I survived. It kept Calcifer there alive until Sophie increased his lifespan by a thousand years." 

As Howl was explaining, Calcifer floated out of the way so that Sophie could creep up behind the unsuspecting wizard. She slid between the siblings, and Howl jumped as she put her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. 

"S... Sophie?" His newly ruddy complexion clashed horribly with the flaxen color of his hair. 

"Shhh, Howl. I'm having a little chat." Sophie closed her eyes and focused on the steady thudding she heard under her ear. Then she realized that indeed she was hearing it in stereo, from both Howl's chest and her own. She reached out in silent communication. 

Howl's heart seemed to recognize her. Howl gasped as it leapt unexpectedly. He felt as if he were about to have a heart attack, and he involuntarily clutched Sophie desperately, as if she were his only lifeline. She didn't even seem to notice. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing was as erratic as his. He felt soul-searing sadness, followed by knee-knocking uncertainty and near suicidal desperation. Then all at once it was over. Or so he thought, until a tidalwave of pure, unfettered joy flooded through him, his blood singing merrily through his veins. Over the roaring in his ears, he heard Sophie murmur: 

"Yes, Howl. I'll marry you." 

"You... you will?" he stammered, uncertain if he had heard right. 

"I said so, didn't I?" She shifted in his arms just enough to be able to lift her head. "I suppose I'll put up with your airs and your tantrums and your spiders for the rest of my life." 

Slightly dazed, it actually took Howl a moment to formulate a comeback. "It's only fair. I've already resigned myself to your curiosity and your cleaning and the fact it's a wonder I haven't started sprouting grey hairs looking after you." 

"YOU looking after ME?" 

Howl gave her a deadpan look. "Witch. Waste. Miss Angorian." 

"Oh." 

None of what Howl was saying made any sense to Megan, and she secretly wondered what Neil's former English teacher who had mysteriously disappeared had to do with anything. Then she realized she really didn't want to know. But she nodded in approval anyway. If they were already intimate enough to speak so cryptically yet understand each other so well, there was nothing she could do about it but wish them luck. 

"FINALLY!" Calcifer burst out. 

Howl reluctantly released his betrothed and stepped out of the circle of her arms just far enough so he could extend his hand. "Then, you'll accept this?" 

Sophie gathered up her courage, then looked. It was a beautiful ring made of silvery metal and a finely-cut blue gem as the centerpiece. She had a feeling Howl had used his magic to clean it up after its tea bath, but it was lovely. "Yes." 

Howl took up her left hand almost hesitantly. Something about the way his fingertips brushed her lightly callused palm made her turn a pretty shade of pink, and her eyes sparkle to match the diamond he slid onto her ring finger. 

The moment was broken by Martha nearly knocking Sophie over with an overenthusiastic hug. "Congratulations, Sophie!" she crowed. "I'm so happy for you! Although I'm a little jealous, you being able to start a family before me." 

"Martha!" Sophie cried, scandalized. "I am older than you, after all." 

"I know, I know." Martha turned to regard Howl. "Now you take good care of her, you hear me? And I'll know if you don't, because I'll be asking Michael for regular updates!" 

"Martha!" This time it was Michael who was protesting, looking highly embarrassed. 

Howl chuckled with an air of resignation. "I expect no less from the sister of my charmingly nosy Sophie. I won't hold it against you, Michael. How can I when I am also under the thumb of a Hatter sister?" 

"Under her thumb? Pah! Not you, Howl," Calcifer tossed in, as he was feeling a bit neglected. 

"How else do you explain the fact I have shackled myself to one woman? Just don't let this get out. It may ruin my reputation." 

"It'll be all over Ingary within a fortnight, anyway, you know," Calcifer said with a slight yawn. "Even I'm not strong enough to stop the rumor mill. Neither are you, for that matter." 

"I suppose you're right. And I doubt I can keep my tarnished reputation intact in Wales, either. For I know my dear sister will be shouting from the rooftops as soon as she gets back that her good-for-nothing brother has turned respectable." 

"Respectable? I doubt that very much, Howell," Megan replied magnanimously. "Even when I do tell everyone my brother is getting married, they won't believe me. Besides," Megan forced herself to be honest, "I doubt your bride-to-be would like it if you even tried. She obviously fell in love with you with all your faults intact. In fact, if she does try to change you, she'll have to answer to me." 

Howl stared at her slack-jawed, while Sophie met Megan's eyes and an understanding passed between them. 

"I'd think someone had kidnapped him and put a golem in his place if he all of a sudden went prim and proper on me," Sophie said aloud. "He is the youngest, after all." 

"No fair!" Martha whined. 

Michael's lips twitched, his loyalties severely divided, while everybody else except Howl burst into hearty laughter. Howl simply put on his best long-suffering look. 

"It's better than having to face the responsibility of being the eldest," Howl sniffed. 

"You can say that again!" Martha agreed, pulling a face at Sophie. 

In the midst of all the clamor, Calcifer had wended his way between Howl and Sophie, frizzling the ends of Sophie's hair. 

"So, any idea for a date yet?" 

"I'm still getting used to the whole idea I'm betrothed!" Sophie protested. 

"Couldn't agree more," Howl added. 

"Just be sure and send me an invitation, or it'll get pretty chilly in here this winter." 

Howl raised an eyebrow. "As though you wouldn't crash the party anyway." 

"There is that." 

"Sophie! Your hair!" Megan cried, noticing the curling, blackened ends of her future sister-in-law's coif. 

Sophie sighed. "It's what I get for freeing a fire demon." 

"Free the fire demon, and capture the wizard," Howl sniffed, before he broke into a grin. "I think I may be getting the better end of the deal." 

Calcifer fizzed dubiously as Howl ran a hand through Sophie's hair, restoring it to perfect health. Megan inhaled sharply at the blatant display of magic. 

Howl gave her an "I told you so" look over Sophie's head. Megan went a little white. 

"So, Sophie," she said in a mildly shaking voice, "do you have magic powers, too?" 

Sophie shrugged. "I'm not nearly as powerful as Howl." Her fiancé made a sound of reproach. "But I can work some magic." 

"Then I suppose there's nothing I can do but say 'Congratulations' and... when shall I bring Gareth and the children?" 

Howl opened his mouth to speak, but Sophie beat him to the punch yet again. "Sometime next weekend, perhaps? Children in Wales have off on weekends, too, don't they?" 

Megan nodded. "We have dinner with Gareth's family on Sundays. Saturday, perhaps?" 

"I can close the flower shop early, and--" 

"You ladies do realize this is still _my_ Castle, don't you?" Howl interjected in an attempt to halt the lumbering, inexorable wheel of feminine plotting. 

They ignored him completely. 

"And I'll be doing all the work!" Calcifer whined. 

"Oh no. You'll have the day off, Calcifer. Much as we appreciate you, I still don't think Megan or her family would be comfortable if they knew their meal was cooked over a fire demon," Sophie reasoned. "I spent fourteen years cooking over a regular fire, so I'll simply have to make do." 

"Fourteen years? How old are you, Sophie?" Megan queried. 

"Eighteen," Sophie replied. 

Megan glared at Howl. "Cradle-snatcher." 

Howl put up his hands to ward her off. "When I'm sixty and she's fifty-one, it won't make much difference at all." 

During the exchange between the Jenkins siblings and the newest addition to their family, Martha and Michael had edged backwards toward the safety of the door leading to the flower shop portion of the Castle. A look of impending doom crossed their faces. They turned to each other for reassurance. 

"Eloping is sounding better and better to me, Martha. What about you?" 

Martha gave another rather terrified look to the chaos surrounding her sister. "It's sounding wonderful right now." 

"But for now, how about getting some ices from Mr. Emeri down the street?" 

"Perfect!" 

And they beat a hasty retreat, leaving Sophie, Howl, and Megan to settle things on their own.

* * *

**Author's Note:** You've made it this far? Wow... This is the way to double a word count in one post, but there was just so much material to cover and so many characters wanted to have a say, I couldn't make it any shorter.

As always, feedback of all kinds is greatly appreciated!


	5. Monday Afternoon Post

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters in this piece of fiction are mine. They belong to Diana Wynne Jones and her publishers. All I am is a mouthpiece (or finger-piece since I'm typing, who knows?), so please don't sue me because they want more screentime than they had in the book. 

**Author's Note:** This fic takes place in a completely different timeline from the previous two. You'll notice this happening quite alot between stories. Sometimes I'll be inspired to write one version of a set of events, sometimes I'll have an idea that completely opposes the first. There is actually no chronological order (except between "Ensnared" and "Revelations"), so yes, expect to see "Howl and Sophie not yet married" fics next to "Pregnant Sophie" fics and the like.

I actually wrote the first section of this particular story over a month ago, and the muses decided to grace me with the rest just recently. This fic is entirely bookverse, since it has Megan and Mari in it. But it has drama, humor, and fluff, just so you're warned. Enjoy!

**Warning!** I will probably be upping the rating for "Universal Language" to "T" sometime in the next few stories, due to some of my future ideas being a little too risque for "K+", and I want to be safe. Just wanted to give everyone a head's up in case anybody screens for "T" and up.

**Kiss Theme #2** - _ "news" or "letter"_  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre:** Romance  
**Pairing:** Howl/Sophie  
**Summary:** In which Mari makes a discovery, and Howell's secret is revealed.

**Monday Afternoon Post  
_by Mimea_**

Mari Perry trudged up the road, her school bus having left her off a few houses down. The driver thought it would be easier to just drop an entire group of children from her neighborhood off at once, despite the fact she was still getting used to the whole "school" concept. 

One of her duties she had been given as a "big girl" was since she would be the first home on weekdays, it fell to her to collect the mail from the box at the end of her driveway. So far it had only been bills and assorted junk mail. Or the occasional letter to her parents from one of their distant friends. Nothing interesting ever came, so she had quickly bored of her task. But it was still her responsibility. So it was with a heavy heart that she tugged the little door leading into the box open and grabbed the first handful out. Her arms were short, and her hand not so big, so it often took her several tries to get everything. What she'd already retrieved, she stuck in her knapsack. The first day she'd collected the mail, she had simply put it on the ground. It had blown away in the first breeze, and she spent a good half hour gathering it from the neighbors' lawns. The second day she'd had the presence of mind to hold them down... With her shoe. 

Mari winced at the memory. Mama had scolded her rather severely for that. 

"Bill. Bill. Junk. Bill," she intoned as she cursorily sorted through the letters. She knew when Papa got home he would sigh, then go to pay the bills. Mama would open the junk, read, snort, then throw the lot away. Everything happened regularly in her house. 

Sometimes it got very boring. But she knew she didn't dare act up. Every time she did, her mother would blame her beloved Uncle Howell and threaten never to let him set foot in the house again. 

That would devastate her. He was the only one who understood. 

So she had to be good! 

At last, she thought she had everything. But just in case, she stuck her arm in as far as it would go. 

She felt something flat and glossy under her middle fingertip. 

Her knapsack dropped to the ground with a solid THUD as she strained on tiptoe to fish out whatever had been stuffed so far back into the postbox. She twisted slightly, trying to give her arm more reach. The tip of her tongue stuck out between her lips in concentration, and she made little high-pitched sounds as she pushed herself to the limit. She secretly hoped that whatever was giving her so much trouble would be worth it. 

Finally, after much scrabbling about with her fingertips, she coaxed the thick paper forward. Triumphantly, her fingers closed over the edge and she drew it out for inspection. 

Her eyes immediately widened, and her mouth parted slightly in shock. Part of her was embarrassed, another fascinated, and a teeny, tiny piece was jealous. 

"Mama! MAMA!" she cried, her knapsack lying forgotten by the postbox as she raced up the garden path to the front door of RIVENDELL. 

The door opened to reveal the harried, slightly austere figure of Megan Perry. A glimmer of disapproval crossed her face, and her frown only deepened when she saw what Mari was doing. "Mari! Haven't I told you before not to run?" 

"But Mama!" Mari protested. "It's really, really, REALLY important!" Nonetheless, she reluctantly slowed her steps until she was moving at a rather brisk trot the rest of the way down the garden path. 

Megan's eyebrows rose. "Important?" She eyed the white back of whatever Mari was holding, which was covered in black squiggles. Then her expression turned dark. "Did you open the envelope?" she demanded in disbelief. 

Mari stopped, just a few paces away from her mother, and looked incredibly hurt. "Of course not, Mama! It wasn't in an envelope to begin with! It was just stuck in the postbox. I promise!" 

Megan felt a twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry, Mari. I shouldn't have blamed you." 

That seemed to satisfy the little girl, who closed the distance between them and set her prize in her mother's hand, writing side up. "It's like a postcard!" she declared, her sunny smile returning as she stared at the picture on the other side. 

Now if you had asked her, Megan Perry would have denied that she had any sense of curiosity. But the truth was, just like most of her species with any sort of intelligent mind, mysteries piqued her interest and bothered her until she had solved them. She should have just read the letter first, which would have saved her a bit of a shock. Instead, she immediately turned the paper over. 

Mari watched with interest as her Mama's face turned white, then faintly pink, the tips of her ears reddening like Uncle Howell's did when he was embarrassed. Mama's lips tightened into a thin line, and Mari knew she was trying not to gape. Gaping was unladylike. 

Megan's hands shook slightly as she took in the photograph before her. It had been taken someplace outside in what seemed to be a town square of some sort. Streamers hung overhead and bits of rice and confetti filled the air. The houses she could make out were quaint, old-fashioned things. But the two figures in the foreground that had been captured from the waist up were what held her attention. 

One she didn't know. The unfamiliar girl was quite pretty, her red-gold hair shining in the late afternoon sun, and her cheeks a rosy shade that had nothing to do with cosmetics and everything to do with her companion. Her eyes were closed, but her nose was small and straight in profile. The dress she wore was elegant and obviously made of very rich fabric and laces, which matched the white veil nestled with care over her abundant hair. 

The other, she was trying to convince herself she didn't know, but she'd known him since the day he'd come into the world: a red, squalling handful of trouble just waiting to happen. He'd dyed his hair raven-black with bluish highlights. But his costume was anything but subdued. The material of the jacket was scarlet, embroidered with a fortune in gold thread. His trousers seemed to match, but it was the sleeves that held Megan's attention. They trailed far out of the picture, even the one adorning the arm reaching up to touch the girl's jaw line. The other arm was firmly secured about her waist. The sleeves were of some gossamer material that was made up of more gold embroidery than anything else. The red was only a hint underneath. She noted with stunned disbelief that his sleeves matched his companion's hair. 

But what held her attention the longest really shouldn't have surprised her, the way her brother flirted and engaged nearly every woman he laid eyes on in innuendo-laden conversation. Yet something about the expression on his face gave the impression he was being playful, yet more serious than he'd ever been in his life. His head was bowed slightly, the girl's face upturned to meet his. They had been captured at the exact moment their lips pressed together, their eyes closed to savor the instant of intense connection. Howell stood, holding her protectively, and she had fitted herself close to him with an ease that bespoke their feelings for each other loud and clear. 

With a slightly trembling hand, Megan turned the photograph over to read the untidy scrawl of her baby brother that covered the back. 

"Dearest Megan, 

"I hope this missive finds you well, and that you have not died of a heart attack due to the image on the front. I assure you the picture was taken in an attitude of utmost seriousness and sincerity." 

Megan snorted despite herself, as she knew her brother would have expected. 

"The enchanting creature you see in the picture is, indeed, me. The lovely girl next to me is Mrs. Sophie Jenkins, nee Hatter. So tell your lady friends they need no longer fear for themselves, their daughters, or acquaintances. I prefer to keep living for a number of years, even if it is with a ball and chain. All things said and done, this should be quite an interesting adventure. 

Your loving brother,  
Howell" 

Megan continued to stare at the mind-boggling missive in shocked disbelief, reading it over several times before Mari's voice brought her out of her stupor. 

"What's it say, Mama? Who's that with Uncle Howell? It looks like you and Papa's wedding picture, but Uncle Howell's dressed much prettier, and you and Papa aren't kissing in yours! Please read it to me, Mama. Please?" 

Suddenly, Mari stopped, realizing her hands were now empty. She guiltily cast a glance back over her shoulder to see her knapsack resting forlornly at the base of the postbox. Without another moment's hesitation, she ran down the path to collect her bag and the precious contents within. She knew Mama was absorbed in Uncle Howell's letter because not even a sound of remonstration passed her lips as Mari pelted down, then back up, the drive. She was out of breath as she reached the front door again. "I got the rest of the post!" she panted as she dug out the remaining letters from her knapsack and offered them pleadingly. 

Megan lowered the picture slowly, accepting the rest of the envelopes her daughter was holding mechanically. 

"Now will you read it to me, Mama? Please?" 

"Well, I..." Megan had taken a few steps forward and was standing just past the overhang that sheltered the front door when the sounds of a doorknob rattling caught both females' attention. Megan and Mari stared, wide-eyed, as the door of their house shuddered a bit. There wasn't anyone else in the house! Gareth was still at work, and it would be another couple of hours before Neil returned from school. Megan edged away warily, thrusting Mari behind her protectively, dropping all but the photograph in the process. But her eyes remained fixed on the door. 

Then suddenly it swung open to reveal two familiar figures, who were arguing quite vociferously. 

"I really think we should have asked to arrange a time for a visit! What if nobody's home?" 

"Mari should have just come home from school, so Megan wouldn't have gone out on errands. Although I should be much more wary of the fairer sex by now, it'll be easier explaining to the ladies first." 

"And just what will your sister say when you appear on her doorstop with a complete stranger?" 

"I daresay she expects it of me, Sophie. She barely batted an eyelash when I showed up with you and Michael that one time." 

"Just because she is used to it does not mean she enjoys it! I'm surprised she hasn't caught you in a compromising moment after all this time." 

"I am the epitome of cautiousness, Mrs. Manners. And for your information, I did send her warning. I left a little note in her postbox." 

Sophie sighed. "You're impossible," she lamented, but the sparkle in her eyes told anyone paying attention that she really didn't mind. 

"Just one of my charms," Howl replied, leaning down to catch her lips in a stolen kiss for courage... 

"Uncle Howell!" 

Howl and Sophie looked toward the front walk, startled to see not only Howl's niece, but Megan Perry herself staring at them. As soon as Mari saw she had her uncle's attention, she launched herself at him. He barely had the presence of mind to stoop down and catch her, lifting the child into his arms so she could throw her arms about his neck in a joyful hug. 

Sophie felt her face grow warm as she realized that her new sister and niece must have heard nearly the entire exchange. She did not dare look at Megan, so she focused on Howl, watching as Mari released him only to start babbling a line of observations and rapid-fire questions in that language only she and Howl spoke. Apparently she was asking about Howl's suit, from the girl's gestures. Whatever he told her made her giggle. 

That made her recall her own predicament. They hadn't had time to change to Wales attire, so they stood in all their Ingary splendor. Howl had chosen one of his new suits that he'd bought to "compliment" her wardrobe. He was garbed in lavender with silver accents, his trailing sleeves not quite as long as usual, but long enough to give anyone outside Ingary pause. And even some within. She herself stood in a dress of blue-grey silk with its proper long skirt and petticoats underneath. 

She felt Megan's stare, and scrupulously avoided it. 

Mari and Howl's discussion finally ended with a sentence that sounded vaguely like a question, and in response, Howl turned back to Sophie and announced in words she could understand, "Yes, this is your new aunt. Her name is Sophie." 

The little girl's eyes lit up and Howl nearly dropped her as she lunged to wrap her arms around Sophie's neck in welcome. Sophie stepped closer so the child wouldn't fall and embraced her in return a bit hesitantly. She was so warm and practically vibrating with life, and Sophie understood why she and Howl were so close. 

Mari straightened after some minutes, and gave an approving nod and grin. "I like you!" she pronounced. "You're so nice and soft and warm, and you give great hugs! Do you hug Uncle Howell like that? No wonder he married you! You love him, don't you? He loves you, he told me so himself just now. Your hair is very pretty! I wish mine was that color. I want to tint mine like Uncle Howell does, but Mama said she won't ever let me. Are you staying for dinner? Please say yes! I know Mama won't mind! Would you Mama?" 

The trio's attention finally returned to the flummoxed matron standing just beyond the doorstep, watching the scene, but unable to speak, even if she could get a word in edgewise. Her mouth worked, but nothing came out. A moment later, the silence gave her time to get her bearings and her eyebrows snapped down in blatant disapproval that had Howl wishing he could run back the way he came. 

"Howell Jenkins, what sort of joke do you think you're trying to pull? How did you get in the house? Have you been hiding there all afternoon? What nonsense, planting this thing in the postbox so I'd find it before you made your appearance! You better not have been hiding in my bushes. If you've ruined them, you're paying for them." She fixed her eyes on the couple grimly, realizing that her explanations didn't fit what she was seeing, but she refused to believe they'd just appeared out of thin air. "And why are you dressed like that? All finery and fripperies, you look ridiculous! And apparently you've dragged this young lady into your plotting as well! Is she an actress? How much are you paying her?" 

At first, Howl looked utterly abashed, then vaguely offended. But when Megan started attacking Sophie, his own eyebrows lowered and a frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. He deliberately set Mari down with a word to her in Welsh before straightening his shoulders and moving forward to do battle. He strode over to his sister, using his slight height advantage to make himself clear. 

"Sophie is no actress, Megan. That picture and my message are no joke. Insult and badger me all you want, Megan, that's your right. But you WILL show some common courtesy to my wife. She's blameless in my perceived wrongdoings. Don't drag her into our old quarrels." 

Megan was taken aback and stood gaping at her younger brother. His green eyes flashed dangerously, and Megan felt her high ground dissolving beneath her feet. "You... You really did marry?" she asked softly, her voice a bit higher than normal from strain. 

Howl held up his left hand to display the metal band around his left ring finger. "I am bound and properly subjugated." He heard Sophie snort behind him and drew comfort in it. If she could snort, she hadn't been particularly offended by the accusations Megan had made. "We came with the intention of explaining everything, and even," he hesitated and gulped, "staying to dinner if you'd have us. However, it appears we are not welcome--." 

"I didn't say that," Megan quickly interjected. Howell, willing to stay for dinner, even though he knew Gareth would be present? What HAD that girl done to him? She glanced over her brother's shoulder. Mari was clinging to Sophie's skirts, and Sophie had a comforting hand on the top of her head, stroking her brownish hair, saying something that was obviously reassuring from the way Mari's hands were relaxing from their hold. 

Howl noticed that he'd lost Megan's attention and turned to follow her line of sight. His newly-regained heart swelled with pride as Sophie soothed his little niece in a warm, rather expert manner. A smile flashed across his face at the thought of what a fine mother she would make, before he recalled he was supposed to be facing down his sister. He focused his hardened gaze on Megan again. 

"It most certainly sounded like it," he continued where they left off. "I was planning on just keeping her to myself, at least until the honeymoon was over, but she was insistent that she meet my family, as I've already become acquainted with hers." 

Megan took a deep breath and released it with a sigh. She crumpled, all at once looking her thirty-plus years. "You're right, Howell. I owe you and your wife an apology. It is simply a shock to see your brother and a girl you don't even know walking out of your front door when you know you've been the only one in the house since morning. You took ten years off my life with that stunt!" 

Now Howl had the grace to look embarrassed. "That is what I get for not listening to my wife. She was saying I should have sent more of a warning. I suppose I have just had the devil's own luck going in and out that door without you witnessing it all these years." 

"All these years?" Megan asked. "You mean, your perform your disappearing and reappearing acts though my front door?" 

"Precisely. But how that came to be is an incredibly long, involved story. I figured we should tell you and Mari first, so you can help us trim it to what Neil and Gareth should know." 

"In other words, help you embroider a tale for them." 

Howl shrugged. "If that is what you want to call it." 

Megan sighed and shook her head. "I can't believe I'm actually considering doing this." 

"Well, if it would help, there should be time after we've explained things to take a trip through your door again so you can see for yourself." 

Megan looked vaguely alarmed. "What will happen when we try and go inside?" 

"Nothing right now. The door only leads elsewhere when I want it to." 

Megan gave him a skeptical look that bespoke plainly her belief that their parents had allowed him too many fantasy novels as a child, but for once, she kept silent on that matter. "Right. Then I suppose I should ask if you and my new sister-in-law would join me and Mari in fortifying ourselves with tea and crumpets before embarking on this adventure of yours?" 

"You're the lady of the house," was his reply. 

With an effort to maintain some modicum of her dignity, Megan marched around Howl to take control of the situation, at least for a little while. "Well, then, do come in," she purposely directed her invitation to Sophie. She breezed past the young woman and the little girl on the steps and defiantly flung the door open. She didn't see anything amiss, so she stepped inside. 

She found herself in her rather plain entryway. 

She let out a tiny sigh of relief and turned to her daughter and her guests. "Tea will be ready in ten minutes. If no one else is there, I'll eat everything myself." 

Howl and Sophie exchanged looks, but Mari happily fell for it. "Noooooo! I'll help, Mama!" she cried, and released Sophie the rest of the way in favor of the promise of crumpets. 

Sophie watched as Howl strode up to the doorstep. He was about to go in when her hand on his elbow stopped him. He looked at her questioningly, the expression in the depths of his eyes betraying his fear and uncertainty. 

"That was quite brave, Howl." 

Howl made a disparaging noise. "Not on purpose. I simply felt beholden to defend my wife's honor in the face of adversity." His words were flippant, and he tried to make his tone light, but Sophie saw right through him. He smiled ruefully in acknowledgement that he'd been caught and his hand closed over hers, his thumb rubbing lightly over the back of her hand. 

Sophie smiled up at him, calming him, supporting him, and making him weak in the knees all at the same time. If it were not broad daylight, if there were no neighbors, and if it wasn't his older sister's doorstep, he would have been tempted to express the full force of his feelings for her right then and there. As it was, he bowed his head in her direction. Sophie obligingly raised her face to his. But just as their lips were about to meet, they were startled apart by Mari's voice. 

"Mama! Uncle Howell and Aunt Sophie are snogging on the doorstep!" Mari reported, obviously fascinated with the display and eager to spread the news. 

Sophie's hand dropped off his arm, and Howl walked into the house. "And just where did you learn that term, young lady?" he questioned. 

"From Neil!" Mari proudly told him. 

Sophie stifled a laugh and followed her husband inside RIVENDELL. She had a feeling it was going to be a very long, exciting, emotional evening. "But then again," she thought to herself, "that's what having a family is all about." 

_**Fin**_

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**Author's Note:** Another one down! Yay! And.. I've made it past 41 reviews! I'm slightly dazed by that. Thank you ever so much, everybody! Extra special thanks goes out to Kara Adar, raedyn-l (who followed me over from LJ), and Skeye who've actually left a review for every story!

Of course, the one who wins the dedication award is higley, who reviews both here and on LJ. I feel so loved!

Just a couple review responses are left, so go ahead and go on with what you were doing. Unless, of course, you wanted to leave a little donation in the review box. Then please do! I love feedback of all kinds!

* * *

**Kara** - It wasn't I necessarily wanted it shorter, I just thought it was too long since most HMC short stories are much shorter. I'm sorry I didn't update sooner, and I hope your strep throat is better!

**raedyn-l** - Wow... Just something about the way you phrased your review made me choke up. It was beautiful. Thank you so much!

**Manga Mazoku** - Well, in the book Sophie kept talking about maybe the remains of maiden's hearts were hidden in Howl's room, and considering what I know to be under my own bed... And I always worry about keeping everyone in character, so thank you for letting me know I did it!

'Til next time! 


	6. Casualties of War

**Disclaimer:** Next verse, same as first. A little louder and a whole lot worse. In other words, I really don't own Sophie, Howl, Calcifer, or any other characters in this story. That privilege goes to Diana Wynne Jones, her publishers, Studio Ghibli, and Walt Disney. They're simply borrowing me to tell a story again, and my only compensation is reviews, which although they mean the world to me, they do not pay bills nor are such things suitable to start a lawsuit over. So please don't. 

**Author's Note:** The phrase "ano sa" is one of the many Japanese expressions that have no direct translations into English. Its connotation depends on the situation, but the closest I can come to a general, natural English translation would be "By the way..." or "Hey, you know..?" Why am I explaining this? So you'll see where I do actually insert the theme for this piece. It's there, just buried.

Enjoy! 

**Kiss Theme #5** - _"ano sa"_  
**Rating:** PG-13 (for a disturbing image and some subtle adult conversation)  
**Pairing:** Howl/Sophie  
**Genre:** Drama  
**Summary:** In which Howl is feeling things, and Sophie makes a declaration.  


****

Casualties of War  
_by Mimea_

That's it. He'd finally lost it. Many would say that Howell Jenkins lost any semblance of sanity he may have had long ago, but Howl himself knew he'd been able to keep at least one thread. Until now. 

Maybe it was overwork. With all the King's demands, he had barely time to breathe. Of course, he was actually under less pressure now that Sullivan had finally remembered his responsibilities after a stern talking-to from his new wife Lettie. But there had to be a reason... 

"Howl?" 

"GAH!" The great wizard leapt several inches off the stool he had been sitting on. He whirled around, eyes wide, until he got himself under control. "Sophie," he remarked a little breathlessly. "What is it?" 

"I should be asking you that." Sophie sat in the chair before the hearth, having turned it so that the bluish flame of a napping Calcifer warmed her back. "You've been awfully jumpy lately." 

Howl carelessly waved her concern away and turned back to his current project. The war was nearly won. Strangia had been beaten most of the way back. 

"Just one more invention of yours, Pendragon! That's all we need!" the King had declared. 

"Merely exhausted from the demands being made upon me by King and country," he told her. "You certainly blackened my name well. The King is looking to ME to put an end to this asinine war!" 

"I had nothing to do with it," Sophie sniffed. "It's not my fault you're too clever for your own good. Besides, I was only doing what you told me to back then. Everything since then has been entirely your own fault." 

Something was definitely wrong. Even arguing with Sophie wasn't lifting the cold dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach and deep in his heart. 

Someone was watching him. He could feel their eyes everywhere. Sometimes it wasn't so strong, like when he went to the castle in Kingsbury. But here in his own home, there were times like this when the sensation was so strong it set every magical nerve tingling in defense. But if he really wanted to think about it, for once, it wasn't for his own sake that he was scared. 

It was wartime. And while Calcifer and even Michael could hold their own, he would bet any sum of money Sophie would find herself in the thick of trouble. She could protect herself when the need arose. He had no doubt of that. But the silly girl just didn't tend to THINK when she most needed to! If someone was watching him, they had to be watching Sophie, too. 

Yet she seemed as ornery, contrary, organized, and perfectly lovely as ever. 

Or did she? 

Something niggled in the back of his mind, and he desperately waded through the murk of his thoughts to catch hold of it again. 

"Stop tinkering with that thing, Howl, and come to bed." Sophie put her hands on her hips in a manner that made Howl feel distinctly uncomfortable, for it was a perfect imitation of his well-meaning older sister. Right down to the forceful blue eyes attempting to stare him into submission. 

Howl shook his head and turned back to his work. "No can do, sorry. I wish there to still be a bed once morning comes. If the Strangians get so much as a whiff of where to attack, you can be sure this place will be the first on their list." 

Sophie snorted. "You hid away from the Witch of the Waste well enough," she reminded him. A shadow of self-doubt flitted over her face. "It was my fault she caught up. If you could face her, you can easily protect this place from anything the Strangians might try!" 

Howl sighed. She was so utterly EXASPERATING! Ordering him hadn't worked, so she had complimented him. The thing was, she didn't even realize she was doing it! She had such complete faith in a scoundrel like him, and not a whit of it in herself. At times like this he was always torn between taking her by the shoulders and rattling her until that self-doubt dislodged itself, and crushing her soft body to his and wordlessly convince her once and for all that SHE was the one thing he believed in wholeheartedly. 

And that he was scared witless at the thought of losing her. 

Now he thought he might understand a bit the soldiers who marched out onto the battlefield. What was courage, after all, than an emotion born out of fear? It had taken the threat of losing Sophie to turn him into what others considered to be a hero. But he was no hero. Merely a man. A very desperate man. Desperately in love with a shrewish, blunt woman who knew every single one of this faults, and loved him anyway. For no good reason. 

Then again, he'd had no good reason to fall in love with her, either. So he really couldn't blame her. 

But the fact remained there was someone watching them. Someone who might somehow gain access to the Castle and make him watch as the home he had unwittingly created for himself was torn apart brick by brick. He shuddered. 

Sophie shot a look toward the fireplace. "Lazy fire demon," she muttered and went for the poker. 

"Leave poor Calcifer alone, Sophie. A cat merely walked over my grave is all." 

Sophie raised an eyebrow, but he could almost see in her eyes the decision to ask about that particular expression another time. "Are you sure? Your hands are shaking, too, Howl." 

Curse it, she was right! 

Howl rubbed his clammy palms on the cloth covering his thighs, heedless of the expensive material. At least it might warm them and rid them of the evidence of his upset. "I'm perfectly all right. Go on ahead, Sophie. I must figure out this last bit of the King's elaborate puzzle." Accompanying his last sentence, he waved his hand behind him dismissively, not daring to turn around and see her reaction. 

Which was the biggest mistake he'd made all evening. 

Sophie's expression darkened, her brows drawing together in a rush of extreme irritation. Convinced he was too absorbed in whatever petty problem the King had dumped into his lap, she began to make the hand motions that Howl had taught her to increase the power of her words. She spoke them deliberately, no louder than the sound of her own breathing. But their inherent magic burst out with all the force of her emotions behind them. 

And Howl's flimsy half-spells exploded in his face. 

Sophie stood, the very image of an avenging angel as her husband choked in the pea-souper of black smog she had caused. After a few moments, the smoke cleared enough that she could see Howl's glowing green eyes fixed on her with an expression that would have sent anybody else running as far away as they could. But she was not about to be intimidated. 

"Now you have to start from scratch anyway. Your mind will be fresher in the morning, so leave those blasted bits of metal until the sun rises!" Sophie demanded. 

Howl was trembling. "Do you realize what you have DONE?" On his last word, he stood all at once, knocking over the stool he had been sitting on to round on her furiously. He came dangerously close to her in two strides. Never before had he been seriously tempted to hit his wife, but the desperate fear inside him wanted to lash out at something, anything. And there was no real enemy he could focus his excess negative emotions on. Strangian soldiers would only leave him with a guilty conscience as he remembered they were merely men, like him, protecting their families with what few resources were left to them. "We are in WARTIME! You are in DANGER!" He stepped even closer, forcing Sophie backward as he continued his panic-filled harangue. "Don't you understand that?" His voice broke as he found himself perilously close to tears. 

It was the evidence of salt water threatening to fall that took the wind out of Sophie's sails with the force of a physical blow. He had backed her up against the wall, his hand braced against the whitewashed cinderblock and his face only inches away from hers. 

Then he bowed his head. His shoulders shook, and Sophie saw several droplets sparkle as they rapidly descended from his eyes to the floor. Howl, the great Wizard Pendragon, Royal Wizard to the King of Ingary, crumpled into a heap on the floor before her. His sobs tore at her heart. They were brokenhearted and terrified, the crying of a child caught in the throes of a horrible nightmare. 

Sophie instinctively sank to her own knees, cradling his shoulders with one arm while pulling his head to her breast with the other. The front of her dress dampened, but she did not care in the least. All she could do was hold him, trying to keep him together as he threatened to break apart. 

Eventually, he seemed to have exhausted the well of liquid torment within him, but he still hiccupped in her arms as he tried to get himself back under control. He felt hollow and empty, frozen with terror. There was nothing he could do. He was helpless. 

"I'm so sorry, Howl. I didn't realize..." Sophie trailed off, words failing her as she rained kisses down on his hair, which had been tinted the raven-black she liked best. 

Then suddenly, she was in his arms, pulled so that her body was flush up against his. His chin hooked over her shoulder, his breath warm on the back of her neck. Those slender arms that hid an incredible amount of strength pressed her so tightly she could barely breathe. She could feel the lean muscle of his chest, the bones of his ribs, the natural bulge of his pelvis pressed against her in a way that in any other situation would have been lewd. It was as though he was trying to absorb her. And frankly, she wouldn't have cared if he did. 

However, at that thought, something happened. 

Howl bit out an oath and sprang back. Sophie noticed the lingering energy surrounding him, as if someone had cast out with some sort of power and caught him unawares. His eyes darted all around the room, readying himself to lash out at whoever was watching from the shadows. He pivoted, thrusting Sophie behind him, only to feel the eyes boring into his back. He turned to look at her, but she seemed to be just as perplexed as he was. 

"Did you feel that just now?" he asked. 

"Which particular thing?" She wasn't really trying to be stubborn for once. Just so much had happened so fast, she wasn't sure what he was referring to. 

"That surge of power!" He touched his hair gingerly, the air sparking as his fingertip brushed the end of one strand. He winced. Then he focused on her, completely puzzled. "Didn't you feel it?" 

Sophie shook her head. "No, I didn't." 

"Not even a hair? A fraction?" Sophie continued to shake her head "no" emphatically in answer to each question Howl posed. Howl's eyebrows lowered in thought. "How could you not?" Then a stray thought chilled him to the marrow. What if the one who had been watching them was actually only watching HIM, waiting for an opening to make an attack? If he died, there would be no one to protect his home or family. Calcifer and Michael would make a valiant attempt, but he was still stronger, and his connection to Calcifer was already deeply ingrained. Michael would have to try and forge a link, and might kill himself in the process. 

He would have to find the strongest shield spell in existence, and somehow strengthen it. There was no choice. Howl took hold of his wife's shoulders. 

"Sophie, I have reason to believe that my life may be in danger. I thought the most likely target was you, but that bolt of power I just felt... I haven't been hit with anything that strong in a very long time." 

Sophie's eyes grew wide. "Someone's after you?" 

"Me. Us. Probably me first, then you once I'm out of the way." His green eyes burned intensely, mimicking the odd green curls of Calcifer's hair. "You have to get out of here, now." 

"And where are you expecting me to go?" Sophie demanded. 

Howl gave her an incredulous look. "Away from this world. To Wales, cariad. That's the only safe place. If I block off that doorway, at least until the war is over, then you should be safe." 

"No Howl!" Sophie's chin rose defiantly. "I won't leave you here alone. Besides, how would I get back home if you're not here?" 

"I'd find some way to bring you back, even if..." 

Sophie placed one finger firmly against his lips. She, of all people, knew the power of words, and thus she was determined to prevent him from speaking of such a thing. She shook her head. "Don't even think it," she said aloud. "I'm not leaving. I refuse to go to Wales. I will not have Megan giving me all sorts of odd advice and telling me how things should be done for months on end!" 

Howl looked at her strangely, gently taking her hand and lifting her finger away from his mouth, pressing his lips against her fingertip as he did so. "Now, Sophie, I of all people know that Megan can be a bit overbearing, but I believe you're getting carried away." 

"No, I'm not! I'll get fat as a cow and she'll torment me with advice until I convince her milk to curdle, her horrible decor unravel and peel, or her kitchen knives to come to my defense!" 

Now Howl was completely lost. He regarded her, halfway convinced that she, too, had lost whatever sanity she once possessed. Perhaps such things were catching. "Sophie, you're not making any sense whatsoever," he told her, deciding that in this case, bluntness might shake her out of her hysteria. 

His intuition was right. She blinked, obviously confused. "You know full well what I'm referring to! Why else would you be so eager to send me out of harm's way when you know I'm perfectly able to take care of myself?" 

Howl stood, keeping hold of Sophie's hand to help her rise before releasing her fully. He stepped back slightly, one hand working into his hair and scratching his scalp not deep enough to cause dandruff, but enough to try and get more blood flowing to his brain. He wracked his strained intelligence to attempt and unravel the mystery his wife had laid before him. "I know you are quite self-sufficient," he began placatingly, treading delicately on the eggshells she had strewn in the path of his understanding. "However, you are not stronger than myself, Calcifer, and Michael combined. That is why I would very much appreciate it if you would consider my... request." 

Howl winced. He never thought that being suave and oh-so-courteously manipulative would ever give him a headache. 

Sophie stared at him, both shocked and incredulous. "You really don't know, do you? I thought you would have ferreted it out long before I even realized what was happening, so I never said anything. Although I was wondering why you hadn't taken me to task yet for not even trying to tell you so you could have the last laugh." 

"Sophie, I may be a wizard, but mind-reading is not one of my admittedly extensive collection of talents. What is this thing I have been supposed to have knowledge of?" 

But Sophie was off on what seemed to be another tangent. "When I get my hands on the King, what I won't do to him! He's worn you into the ground, Howl! Apparently you wouldn't even notice your nose was falling off until it landed in your soup! I don't blame you, not in the slightest. All right, maybe a bit with your love of throwing yourself in twenty directions at once, but if you're this tired, soon you won't be of any use to anyone!" 

"All right! All right! I'll get some rest, for God's sake!" Howl burst out. "Now quit changing the subject!" 

Sophie grew quiet. Howl recognized the tremor in her arms and the straightening of her spine. She was gathering up courage for some reason. He gave her that time, watching her heaving bosom with interest to try and keep his own nervousness at bay. It had to be something of incredible importance to make his sturdy Sophie balk at telling him. 

"Well I... I... You know..." She actually picked up a corner of her apron and twisted it in her fingers, her eyes fixed on the floor. 

Howl came close to her and encased her hands with his own. Slowly, gently, he replaced the cloth with his fingers, twining with hers reassuringly and allowing the abused apron to fall back toward her feet. She raised her head at the sensation, and their eyes met. Howl saw her react to the warmth and love he was trying to project, drawing strength from his faith in her. He wanted to question her, but now was not the time. Silence would be far more welcoming to whatever words would come tumbling from her lips. 

"I... I'm pregnant." 

All the color drained from Howl's face as he regarded his wife in utter shock. His grip on her tightened, making her wince. 

"I thought you knew, I really thought you did! You usually know everything, so I just took it for granted you knew." Howl's lack of response frightened her. "I'm sorry. I should have told you anyway. Me and my stupid belief that you'd hold my inferiority over my head for not figuring it out sooner. Are you unhappy? I know the war is still going on, so it's not the best time, but it wasn't exactly planned." Heat rushed to her face, but she couldn't stop talking. "I didn't even think about it when you needed me, that it might not be the right time, and I didn't have any medicines handy and didn't think it would be quite the right time to ask you..." 

Her babbling was cut short as he squeezed the air out of her lungs, locking her in a massive bear hug. 

"You're right, I should have known," he murmured in her ear. "I was so caught up in the King's projects I wasn't paying attention to what was going on at home. I hate admitting it, but you were right all along. I hereby solemnly swear I am going to inform the King I'm taking the next few days off. I don't care if he protests; he can go hang at the moment, making me miss this!" he told her vehemently. 

"So, you're not angry?" Sophie ventured. 

"Angry? Of course not!" And he punctuated it with a string of Welsh that Sophie understood only thanks to having asked Mari one day to translate the odd words she heard in the dead of night. Which had caused much giggling and blushing on the part of both girls at the mushy endearments flowing so easily from "heartless Howl". 

Then suddenly, he stopped as if he'd been given a physical blow. He released her, staggering backward a bit and trying to catch his breath. 

"Howl! What is it?" Sophie asked, alarmed. 

But instead of panicking this time, Howl leveled a look somewhere she didn't expect: her lower abdomen. He raised an eyebrow and glared, giving himself time to recover. Then he walked slowly toward her, and very deliberately placed his hands over the area he'd been staring at. 

"Howl, what do you think you're..." 

This time, she did feel it. A surge of magic so strong, it sent the room spinning around her and a wave of nausea swept over her. Suddenly, she heard Howl speak, and the world snapped back into balance with a jolt. She stood, gasping, until she heard Howl talking in a tone she didn't think she'd ever heard from her rather childish beloved. 

"Now that, young man, was most certainly uncalled for. Sending little shocks at me for disturbing you is one thing, making your mother ill and trying to bring the Castle down about our ears is quite another! No more magic unless I am here to supervise you." 

Sophie felt a set of dry heaves come over her, and she choked. She made to run to the bathroom, but Howl caught her, his arms slithering around her rib cage. 

"It's all right. The feeling will pass. The little blighter's just trying to throw off my neutralizing spell." 

"If I make a mess, you're cleaning it up," Sophie panted. 

But Howl was right, of course. A few minutes later, she felt much better. All that remained was the flutter of her baby's presence that she had been feeling for the past fortnight. 

"How far along are you, anyway?" Howl inquired. "Officially, I mean." 

"Nearly five months now." 

Howl nodded, as if his own hypothesis had been confirmed. "And how long have you known?" 

Sophie blushed. "Only a few weeks. I thought women were supposed to be sick, or faint, or something like that. I've been feeling out of sorts..." Howl snorted and Sophie lightly pressed her heel down on his toes. "All right, more out of sorts than usual, but that was all. Oh, and I had to let out the waist of a few of my dresses. I had been eating more than usual, but I just thought it was the war and, strangely enough, having the distinct lack of presence around the Castle from a certain Wizard who shall remain unnamed." 

"What made you go to the doctor?" 

"A rather odd feeling in the pit of my stomach is the best way I can describe it. Then I realized my monthly visitor hadn't stopped by in quite a while. I honestly believed it was pure stress, but I was worried that something might be... going wrong." 

The words she used were euphemistic, but Howl understood what she meant. Even though the curse was well and truly lifted, and he himself had restored her inner organs to their true age earlier than the external glamour, they had discussed the fact that she could possibly have lingering effects. He felt slightly ashamed. Once the War had gotten in full swing, he hadn't given her the magical examination that was at once comforting and thrilling to make sure everything was functioning properly. 

"I'm sor..." 

"That is, until the doctor proclaimed with this silly grin on his face that I was actually going to have a baby. He seemed very amused that I hadn't realized it any earlier." Sophie leaned back, resting her head on the yielding muscle between his shoulder and collarbone. "You don't have to apologize, Howl. You had the kingdom to think about at the time." 

"It is still inexcusable. Why ever did you agree to marry a bounder like me?" 

Sophie pretended to think for a moment. "Temporary insanity," she declared. "Besides, if I remember right, there was nothing to agree to. You didn't even ask." 

She felt him flinch slightly, and she shifted sideways slightly, tipping her head even farther back so she could see his chin and jaw up close. He looked down at her smiling face and realized she'd been teasing, then mentally pinched himself for having taken offense. He bowed his head, closing his lips over her upper one. Her lower one quivered in response as shivers ran up her spine. 

A brief eternity later, he broke the kiss to give her a playful look. "I don't recall you protesting, though." 

"Of course not," she replied, once she could find the power of speech again. "By the way, what exactly did you do earlier? Something about a neutralizing spell?" 

Howl turned her so they could speak without causing uncomfortable cricks in their necks. "Apparently what I've been thinking was an enemy was actually the newest member of our family. It was HIM I've been feeling, and who administered those little shocks earlier. Apparently when I was holding you, I pushed him too hard for his liking." 

"Him?" 

Howl immediately contrived to look innocent. "Gender-neutral pronoun, of course." 

But Sophie wasn't buying it. She should have expected Howl would ruin the surprise of the gender of their offspring. At least that would make it easier for decorating and clothing purposes. "So, our son is territorial, is he?" 

Howl capitulated with a sigh, realizing she was not about to be misled. "Very. Takes after his old man, I believe. But he has to learn to share, and that he cannot create undue hardship for his parents. At least until after he has left the womb. Then we will need to tap our own resourcefulness to keep up with him. Although how he learned to focus his energies like that..." Howl's eyebrows disappeared beneath his now-unruly bangs as realization hit him. 

Sophie watched with vaguely puzzled interest as Howl strode over to the hearth. He picked up the poker and very deliberately jabbed it into the faintly glowing embers. 

"OW!" came the whining hiss of a very offended Calcifer, who blazed to life with an angry, wounded expression on his flame-made face. 

"You haven't been sleeping at all during this exchange, have you?" Howl demanded furiously. 

Calcifer bared his purple teeth in a silent laugh. "I was up until that nice explosion that I will lay bets on Sophie having been at the root of," he admitted. "I wasn't about to get in the middle of your little family chat. I value the 998 years I have left." 

"So how long have YOU known?" 

Calcifer yawned before answering. "About two months, maybe three. He gave ME quite a turn, prodding at me while Sophie was napping in her chair. She was oblivious, and you were busy. I wasn't about to worry her by saying 'You know, Sophie, your son is keeping me awake. Go up to your bedroom, please.'" 

Howl gave vent to his anger the best, least-damaging way he knew. "Once AGAIN you've kept things from me I was supposed to know!" he accused. 

"And that you could have known if you'd opened your eyes and actually looked at your wife as more than stress relief." 

Sophie cringed slightly as Howl turned vaguely purplish. She had to do something, or the two would come to magical blows, which would most likely leave the Castle in ruins and make the unsuspecting residents of the three towns they occupied believe they were under attack from Strangian forces. 

"So you've been training him in magic use without my permission?" 

"I had to, Howl. You weren't here to do it, and he's incredibly strong. If I hadn't played tutor, who knows what he might have inadvertently done to Sophie? Did you ever think of that? You saw what happened when his control slipped a little. Imagine an all-out explosion of his power!" 

Sophie felt a little sick, and obviously Calcifer's ruthless logic bored its way into Howl's rage-hazed mind. She could almost see the images swimming across his vision. Pieces of her hanging around the main room, decorating the walls and beams, their miniscule son gasping and wriggling helplessly like a fish on the wooden floor, deprived of the water-filled home she provided. It was horrifying. 

"You see?" Calcifer said, not ungently. 

Howl took a deep breath. "You're right. I hadn't even thought of that. Thank you, my friend, for protecting my family in my absence." 

Calcifer turned an odd shade that Sophie would almost construe as a blush at the unexpected expression of affection. Sparks flew as he did a very close imitation to a human's throat clearing. "So, are you intending to keep your word and take a few days off?" 

Howl nodded. "In fact, I'm revising it to an entire week. This War has been dragging on for months. It and Ingary can survive seven days without me. I am of no Royal use in this condition, and a danger to my family. I'll call in all the favors I did for Ben while he was off courting Lettie if need be. Or perhaps explain all the repercussions to His Majesty of a Wizard getting overtired." 

There was a malicious, delighted glint in Howl's eyes at the last statement that reassured Sophie as to the return of his good humor. She ventured closer, and Howl put his arm carefully about her waist. 

"In fact, I propose blocking off the Kingsbury door after I send my letter. What say you, Calcifer?" 

"I say you're actually talking sense again. Good to have you back, Howl." 

"Good to be back," he said, planting a kiss on the top of his wife's head for emphasis. When Sophie looked up, he continued. "Would you be open to the suggestion of helping me teach our son during my sabbatical? He really should have some human influence, and perhaps we can work out ways that I can actually touch you so the little bugger won't be disturbed overly much." 

"HOWL!" Sophie exclaimed in a scandalized tone. "You are to REST." 

"I will be," he replied airily. "Now, you go on up to bed, and I'll join you as soon as I have my missive to the King written and on its way." He raised her hand to his lips, saluting the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand as he said earnestly, "I swear." 

"Oh, all right," Sophie replied gruffly, letting him know she meant business. 

Howl gave her one of his dazzling smiles and trotted over to the workbench, cleaning it of the debris from his destroyed spells with a wave of his hand and drawing out pen, paper, and ink from one of its drawers. After he had arranged things to his satisfaction, he sat down and reached out for the quill pen… only to find that it had disappeared. 

He looked over to his right and saw that Sophie had also ensconced herself at the workbench, having purloined his pen and two sheets of paper. 

"And just what do you think you're doing?" he inquired mildly. 

Sophie dipped the pen in the ink and began to write as she replied. "Helping you. I'm sending a missive to Lettie informing her of our current situation and enlisting her aid. She'll make sure Ben remembers how indebted he is to you, and if the King is tempted to give us any trouble, she'll be able to handle him. Probably even better than I can." 

Howl regarded her with exasperated amusement and sighed in resignation. He made a gesture, and another quill appeared in his hand. "You know, I almost feel sorry for His Majesty." 

"You shouldn't. He deserves it, taking advantage of you like that…" 

"As though no one around here ever does the same," he retorted with a sideways glance, as he scribbled down the flowery words of court speech that would couch his quite rude demands in a bed of perfume that would make His Royal Majesty's head spin. 

"If you've clandestinely married the King while you've been gone, I wish you would have sent me an invitation." 

"Of course not. He's quite plain, you know. If I were to marry anyone, it would probably be Ben. I do seem to have a fondness for ginger hair." 

"Oh, really. I don't value your hide if Lettie finds out." 

"Me either. But it would be quite a scandal, don't you think?" 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" 

"Hmm.. perhaps. But not nearly so much as I 'like' a certain someone sitting near me." Howl reached out and tickled the end of Sophie's nose with his quill, making her sneeze. 

"I wonder who that could be." 

"Well, I can show her once we finish these letters." 

"I'll be sure and take a while then." 

"Hard-hearted woman!" Howl exclaimed dramatically. 

The watcher from the hearth sighed in relief. If they were quarreling like that, everything was going to be all right. Calcifer was about to drift off when a familiar voice spoke on the edges of his consciousness. 

"What are those two doing?" It was faint, but fully recognizable as that of his unexpected pupil. 

"It's called either 'fighting' or 'foreplay', youngling. Better get used to it. They do it all the time." 

Fin

* * *

**Author's Note:** All right, this wasn't the fic I was thinking of when I said I'd probably be raising the rating, but that's okay. I'd started this one a while back. Then I came home from work one day, and added a bit more. The next morning I woke up, and spent the rest of the day typing almost as if I was possessed, so I most willingly say it just wrote itself.

It has also been pointed out to me that if Morgan is so powerful, why doesn't he do any magic in "Castle in the Air"? My explanation is that Howl's neutralization spell can only be lifted (or made less restricting) by Howl himself, so it's still blocking Morgan's powers. It wouldn't have been convenient to lift it with the Castle still in the air, since who knows what a VERY displeased baby with magical powers would do in such a delicate situation (besides make things immeasurably worse). I mean, given his mother's penchant for not thinking and the fact his father has been known to produce green slime when upset... That's my explanation, anyway. 

As always, much thanks must go to all of you, particularly those who have taken the time to leave a review!

(And yes, "Monday Afternoon Post" does need revising, which I'm working on now. Ultimate thanks goes to Amber for correcting the silly American, giving advice, and pointing me in the right direction to learn more about crucial differences between the US and the UK.) 


	7. Nightmares

**Disclaimer:** Howl and Sophie belong to Diana Wynne Jones. Dear old Gran is an aged extrapolation of a wonderful character by Laurie R. King. The only characters I can claim at all are Howl's parents and Charlie Perkins. But because of the three previously-mentioned characters, I cannot and will not make any money from this piece, so please don't try and sue me! 

**Author's Note:** First and foremost, I must apologize for the length of time between story updates. My work schedule (the thing that actually pays the bills) has not been very conducive to writing, so it honestly has taken a while. But I have several ideas in various stages of completion, so the next one should be up sooner than this one.

This story is actually a bit different from the others. Yes, there is Howl and Sophie fluff. It's just not front and center. It also took several months to put all the pieces together, since, well, you'll see. Please, enjoy! 

**Kiss Theme #6** - _the space between dream and reality_  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Genre:** Drama/Romance  
**Pairing:** Howl/Sophie  
**Summary:** In which Howell falls victim to dreams of the past

**Nightmares  
_by Mimea_**

He was hanging suspended over a churning grey sea. No, he wasn't hanging. He was somehow standing on the blackish wisps of condensation below him. But that didn't make the experience any less scary. People were watching from below, their mouths gaping black holes and their eyes wide with fear. Rather like he felt his own should be. A high-pitched wailing filled the air as greenish monsters with scaly tails rather than legs, skin pale as a fish's belly and as slimy-looking, and withered breasts were tossed and left gasping by the tsunami-like waves in the harbor. He tried to clap his hands over his ears, but even that had no effect against the din. 

He heard his name, or a close approximation of it, screamed at him in rage. His head snapped up, and he stood gaping at the terrifyingly beautiful vision before him. Her hair was as red as the setting sun, and her dress draped her form in a flattering mold of crimson indulgence. But her ruby lips were contorted in rage, her eyes blazing as she challenged him. The enraged lines on her face should have made her ugly, but they somehow only enhanced her beauty. 

She seemed to falter for a moment, before the mask of hatred snapped back into place. Her mouth and hands worked in unison, creating a mass of flame that should have burnt her alive. Howell watched in horrified fascination as she gathered it in her hands, clutching it with clawed fingers. Her face contorted and her mouth moved as she flung her arms forward, sending the vaporous flames hurtling toward him, leaving her unscathed. 

He couldn't duck. He couldn't even move. All he could do was stare in horror as the superheated fog came toward him with superhuman speed. He struggled, the acrid smell of burning hair and the stench of flesh melting from bone assailed his nostrils as he fell down, down into eternal darkness... 

"Jenkins. Jenkins! JENKINS!" 

Howell's eyes snapped open, and he lunged upright in terror. His eyes bulged as he fought to remember how to breathe. A name rose and died on his lips, the name of the one person who understood his nighttime terrors: Gran. But the voice that had called to him, and the hands that had shaken him awake, were childish and most definitely male. 

That was right. He was in a school, but he wasn't visiting his grandmother. Less than a week ago, he had been packed off to this hoity-toity public school. His father had beamed proudly that his son was on the way to "making something of himself" while his mother had bawled and made him promise to take care of himself. 

Howell blinked, finally acknowledging the boy at his side. He could feel the ill-wishes of him dorm-mates, and knew that he had been screaming in his sleep. He grinned rather sheepishly. "Sorry, Charlie. Bugger of a dream, that was." 

"Nah? Really?" Charlie drawled. Charlie Perkins had the bed to the left of Howell's. He cocked his head to one side. "You're not one of those pansies who wake up every night screaming, are you?" 

"He... ck no!" Howell protested. "Just the stress of moving in probably. You know?" 

Charlie eyed him dubiously. "If you say so. Just get back to sleep, okay?" 

"Right," Howell eagerly agreed with a vigorous nod. He flung himself back down and wrapped himself in his blankets to try and quell shivering that had nothing to do with the coolness of the room. He didn't think he was going to be able to go back to sleep, but somehow, the Sandman's dust seeped into his eyes, and he returned to the Land of Nod.

* * *

However, his nightmares had persisted, no matter what anyone tried. And it wasn't always the same one. Oftentimes it involved the lady in red, whose appearance shifted with every dream. Other times it involved wandering about a strange land alone and friendless. Almost invariably, his life was in peril, and he would wake up drenched and shaking at his near-escape. If the rumor about dying in dreams had been true, he would have been dead long ago. 

At long last, with the aid of a psychologist, it was decided that the only cure was to medicate him. After that, both he and his schoolmates were finally able to enjoy an uninterrupted night's sleep. 

Howell kept up his daily pill regimen until he entered university. After two weeks of having to decline invitations to late-night debauchery due to the fear of adverse reactions with his medication, he was well and truly sick of it. He had tried being respectable all during his primary and secondary school years, but now he wanted to see how the "other side" lived. 

So the medications went unused, and Howell Jenkins was formally introduced to the art of wining, which sounds ever so much better than the more appropriate term "aleing", as well as the more advanced form of flirtation more commonly known as wenching. 

His marks fell off a fraction that first term at university, but only enough to cause a knowing wink from his father. Griffith Jenkins gave lip service to the normal parental platitudes that he hoped his son's grades would improve, mostly for Megan's benefit, and sent him on his way. His mother had been hysterical, which was really nothing new. But what hit him most was the look of disapproval from his grandmother when she stopped by for a visit. She was an Oxford don, after all, and she knew her grandson could do so much better. 

Fortunately, Howell had always been rather clever, and learned how to balance coursework and fun. Which meant that if a paper was ever started and finished more than a day in advance, he wasn't having nearly enough socialization. Which would have to be quickly remedied. 

Yet somehow in the maelstrom of discovering the pleasures of life and pulling academic papers out of his proverbial hat, the little sleep he indulged in was filled with fantastical dreams. They had started very mundanely, images of himself as the apprentice of a creaky old lady who was even more strict than Mrs. Jones, his most detested schoolteacher from his childhood. Then they became even more rich. Sometimes he dreamed he lived in a moving castle, others he talked with what seemed to be a fireplace. Or perhaps it was the odd blue fire. The dreams that had so frightened him as a child, he now reveled in. The woman in red no longer scared him. When she did show, he actually felt sorry for her. At least, until she began throwing fire at him. But even then he took delight in defeating her at long last. It was always a draw or in his favor, as well it should be. 

Since he never got any rest at night, his next visit home drew exclamations of horror at his gauntness and the dark circles under his eyes. Mother put him straight to bed and fussed over him like a three-year-old with measles. When he was better, his father suggested he get more sleep, and perhaps take up a sport again to improve his appetite. He'd been quite good at rugby in secondary school, hadn't he? 

So when his second year at university began, Howell took himself off to join the rugby team. It was rough going at first, seeing as how even the amazing Howell Jenkins could fall out of practice after so long. But as he slowly improved, his teammates took note. Eventually, he made right wing, and for the first time he was officially accused of being skilled at slithering out of things. But this time it was in a good way. Once he had the ball, it was very hard for other chaps to get ahold of him. 

Not only did the exercise lead to more nights of dreamless sleep, they had the decidedly pleasant side effect of gaining him a fan club. He wasn't all that bad to look at, despite his unfortunately plain hair color. He did, after all, have the finest pair of green eyes he had ever seen. And the rugby training had given him lean muscle that rippled under his skin quite pleasingly. 

The ladies noticed, and hooted and hollered. His teammates didn't really appreciate it, but Howell most certainly did. He would regale the ladies with tales of his victories, taking center stage after games with every bit of his considerable showman's abilities. 

Then, in his third year, his father passed on, and his mother followed a couple of months later. The nightmares came back full-force, no longer full of mere defeat, but rather echoing of helplessness as the world turned topsy-turvy and people he cared about died gruesome deaths, while he could do nothing to stop it. 

His days became a jumble of words from textbooks, notes, and papers interspersed with the roar of the rugby crowd, the feel of hands trying to grab him as he feverishly searched for the elusive ball, and the laughter of women as he flirted and sweet-talked them. Usually into either his bed or theirs. In fact, it seemed the only way to dispel these new nightmares was to lose himself in the soft body of a companion for the night. Either the warmth brought him some comfort, or, occasionally, he wore himself out too much for dreaming. 

And yet, he did not dare stay with or favor one particular girl over any other. He could not bear the thought of someone actually trying to count on a wreck like him; a man who couldn't even be responsible for himself. So he took what was offered, but when they started becoming attached, he would flee. 

Some even tried to "keep him" in ways that should have grossly affected his view of women. But even the ones who thought to capture him by bearing a child they would not love did not succeed in their plans. The rugby field was not the only place where thorough preparation, back-up, and an almost inhuman ability to slither out saved his skin. He did have a certain fondness for children, he had to admit. But the thought of having one without actually loving the mother held absolutely no appeal for him. He, the mother, and most especially the child, would suffer for it. 

Then, in his final year of undergraduate studies, even the sensation of warmth was not strong enough to dispel the darkness. He dreamed of fantastical things, terrible creatures threatening him, Megan, and her family. Living in a country torn by War. The sight of a faceless young woman he could not quite place bound by orange restraints, struggling against some unseen horror. Tears came unbidden, stinging for release as he found himself powerless... 

The beds he shared seemed hollow, and physical fire was not enough. He woke one night, beside a brunette he didn't even know, thoroughly chilled. He felt her hands on his shoulders, her soft voice murmuring, but he did not understand a word. Her hands moved, and he responded instinctively, desperately throwing himself headlong into the darkness of oblivion.

* * *

The next time he opened his eyes, it was to somewhere unfamiliar. The walls were dark, but not the grey of stone. Instead, they were almost black. The room was livened up by a myriad of trinkets and tapestries that leant a jewel-like glow and added warmth to the darkness. He turned onto his back to see an embroidered canopy overhead, a lone spider attempting a creation in one corner. The coverlet was the same old one from his bed at home, mended and somehow restored to its original, unfaded state. 

Then he realized he wasn't alone. 

He jumped, staring wide-eyed at the figure beside him. It stirred, and in his sleep-muddled haze, he was terrified. 

She turned toward him, the early morning light from the window opposite making her blue eyes seem to glow. His heart all but stopped, lodging painfully in his throat. 

"Howl? Is something wrong?" she asked, coming more fully awake. 

Her voice grounded him back in reality; the dream at last releasing its hold. He was no longer schoolboy, or even university student, Howell Jenkins. He was Royal Wizard Pendragon, and he lived in another world altogether from the one he'd been born and raised in. 

And the woman he had been dreaming of since his university days, no longer faceless, was lying here beside him. His thumb stroked the band around his left ring finger. 

She was his wife. Intriguing, exasperating, passionate Sophie. 

Howell shook his head. "I'm all right," he told her. 

Her hand landed on his shoulder, small yet strong from all the work she did every day. "Liar," she softly accused. 

"One of my better qualities," he quipped. 

"Not when it makes you wake up in a cold sweat! Of course, if all the rumors about you were true, I doubt you'd be able to sleep at all!" 

Howl let a warm, sly grin cross his face as he regarded her. "Oh, I highly doubt that. I have such a nice, soft, warm pillow next to me, I'd drop off regardless." 

"Howl!" she exclaimed. 

He could tell she was blushing. But he hadn't been entirely joking. He could feel the warmth of her hand through his thin nightshirt and the heat her body radiated, even though she insisted on wearing that silly flannel nightgown. 

"What?" he asked with a roguish grin. 

To his slight surprise, the glint in her eyes matched his own. Her hand moved from his shoulder up closer to his neck, her fingertips toying with the ends of his hair. Howl leaned in closer, and Sophie's fingers cupped the back of his neck, drawing him down to close the distance between them. 

This was definitely no dream. Her lips were slightly chapped from the harsh winter weather they'd been having, and her hands clutched almost painfully tight in her eagerness. He could feel the muscles move beneath cloth and skin as he worked his hands down her spine to start bunching up the fabric that concealed her. Sophie let out a gasp, and he deepened the kiss. Her mouth still tasted of sleep. 

But he would take reality, with all its imperfections, over the incompleteness of a mere dream. 

And the only other dream he was planning on having that night was already in his arms. 

FIN

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Yay! One more down! I seem to be on a serious streak lately, but there will be funny ones coming up, I promise. And everyone who reviewed? Thank you so, so much! Your feedback always means a great deal to me, and you guys are all fantastic! passes out hugs and desserts 


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